


Tiny Detail VS. Grand Scheme of Things

by baeconandeggs, zkxxdlin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Fluff, Forced Abortion, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Romance, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zkxxdlin/pseuds/zkxxdlin
Summary: Baekhyun and Chanyeol are enemies that enjoy the passionate sex that comes from their heated arguing. It was never supposed to be serious... Until Baekhyun ends up pregnant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** BAE836  
>  **Disclaimer: baeconandeggs/the mods is/are not the author/s of this story. Authors will be credited and tagged after reveals.** The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
>   
> 
> **Author's Note:** Thank you to the MODs for letting me participate in this year's BAE! :) I had a really fun time writing this fic, and I hope you enjoy reading it! :) If you make it through to the end, I would like to thank you in advance, especially for giving this fic a chance. :) I would also like to thank the prompter for sending in this LOVELY prompt, I hope I did it justice! And also, thank you to everyone that helped me out omg y'all are the real MVPs I LOVE YOU <3

_ He should have known. _

_ He really should have known. _

_ There had been signs, after all. _

_ … There had been  _ signs.

…

…

…

…  _ So he really, really,  _ really,  _ should have known. _

 

* * *

 

“A—Ah,  _ ah—” _ breathless gasps and whines were the only sounds that bounced off the walls, interrupted ever so frequently by just as pathetically desperate whimpers and pants. Scrambling and trembling fingers, alongside paling knuckles and clenching fists grew to be a sight more common, and Chanyeol was quick to pick up on the very fact that it happened in tandem with the pistoning of his own hips.

The faster, the harder, the  _ deeper _ he stuffed himself into the tight, tight,  _ tight _ pussy, the more the fingers scrambled and trembled, the more the knuckles paled, the more the fists clenched.

“Chan—  _ Chanyeol—” _ came the whine; higher, breathier, and  _ sluttier. _ The addressed only smirked, his own reddened and thoroughly abused lips tilting up along the corners as his gaze fell to half-mast, pupils lazily trailing over the sight displayed, the sight  _ presented _ before him.

It was a feast.

A feast fit for a  _ king. _

Feeling his own cock twitch, the heavy shaft nudging against the small bundle of nerves nestled amidst the hot walls, Chanyeol could only groan as he felt the slickened heat bore down onto him harder;  _ tighter. _ The action had been accompanied by no less than yet another spilling of whines, desperate— desperately  _ adorable. _

“You’re so  _ cute, _ Byun,” he manages to groan out, mind dissociating itself from where it was focused; right on the sudden, intense,  _ pleasurable _ heat curled tight around his cock, focusing instead on praising, on  _ pleasing _ the wrecked, helpless, and pathetic little thing spread out before him.

Trailing his eyes back up the other’s body, Chanyeol hurriedly bit his own lip as he let a hissed groan slip past; an action that hadn’t been entirely voluntary as much as it was reflexive.

… but who could blame him, though?

Who could blame him for needing to hold himself back, to physically do whatever it took, to stop himself from blowing his load and spraying white into the latex, when he was fucking  _ the _ Byun Baekhyun?

_ The _ Byun Baekhyun; the very same one who had his thighs split open, the plump and supple flesh spilling in between the crevices of his own fingers as he held the backs of them, spreading, showcasing the other. Byun Baekhyun; the very same one who had his tight, almost virginally so, little cunt wrapped snug about the give of his own length; the slickened pink walls hugging the thick, heavy, and expansive girth of his cock, and the little cervix shyly kissing the tip of his reddened, fat head. Byun Baekhyun, the very same one whose pink, pretty little cock curved in towards his swollen abdomen, shaft resting above the bulge shaped from Chanyeol’s own cock, slapping against it with each hard thrust— with each  _ punishing _ thrust.

The chorus of needy  _ “f—fuck”s  _ and wretched  _ “Chan—Chanyeol”s _ were frequently interrupted by Chanyeol’s own arrogant mumbles of  _ “Look at  _ you, _ baby”s  _ and cocky groans of  _ “Taking me in  _ so well, _ pussy stretching  _ so good _ around my cock”s. _ His words only served to further entice the other though, if the manner in which Baekhyun had arched even further off the table was anything to go by.

… yet his movements had been limited, however, and Chanyeol couldn’t help the way his lips began to slowly tilt upwards, curling around the edges into a smirk,  _ smug.  _ With his eyes trailing further back up the other’s frame, Chanyeol could only coo, the sight of the abused, spit-slickened nubs glistening in the blaring light of the room so cute. He recalls just how much the other had squirmed, chest vainly shying away from his fingers and tongue, the sensations of having them twisted and flicked by thick fingers and hot tongue having been too much for Baekhyun’s sensitive chest. He remembers how futile his efforts had been though, squirms and attempts at escape futile, and that thought had served to only coax Chanyeol’s gaze up, and up, and up—

— Past the glistening, heaving chest, past the mosaic of reds and purples littered all over the curves of his shoulders and column of his neck, the pale skin bruised,  _ marked— _

… only to slow down in its pace, his gaze lazily trailing over parted lips, a scrunched up nose, before falling back down to half-mast as it caressed over shut eyelids and furrowed brows.

_ Pleasured. _

… and as the sounds of jostling, of rustling broke through the heated silence, one broken only by obscene moans and vulgar slapping of skins, Chanyeol’s eyes instantly flickered over to the opposite edge of the table—

_ — and he couldn’t have helped the smirk from forming, from  _ plastering _ itself onto his face. _

… for silk had  _ never _ looked better.

Hurriedly pulling his hips back, Chanyeol panted out a muted, almost vehemently hissed out  _ “fuck” _ before pushing forwards yet again, the pace now borderline  _ animalistic. _ The intensity of the sudden rush of pure, unadulterated lust had been quite unexpected, and it had resulted in him reflexively gripping the fat of Baekhyun’s thighs even tighter in his hands.

His grip was borderline  _ bruising, _ and the knowledge, the realisation that his fingers were bound to leave marks, the Baekhyun would be carrying around  _ his _ marks—

_ —Marks littered and scattered all about his neck, his shoulders, his thighs— _

_ —Paraded and displayed,  _ showcased _ for anyone and  _ everyone _ to see, to  _ know—

_ … Possession. _

… and it was with a final groan, a final growl, the syllables of  _ “You are  _ mine,  _ Baekhyun” _ almost incoherent in the husky rumbles and gritty tenor, did Chanyeol finally come. He came with white absolutely spraying into the stretched latex, shoving himself all the way to the hilt, stuffing the other  _ full. _

Apparently, that had also been all it took for the other too, for Baekhyun had instantly arched up at the same time his jaw dropped, head pushing against the cool wood of the table as an elongated scream left his lips.

Chanyeol had felt rather than heard the orgasm that he pulled out of the other. With him pressing the entirety of his front right up against the others’ own; exposed, slickened chests lined up and pelvis pressed right against the other’s, Chanyeol was entirely engulfed by the being that was Byun Baekhyun, the latter even more so. He didn’t let up the grip that he had on Baekhyun’s thighs though, but the trembles— the very same ones wreaking havoc all across Baekhyun’s frame—  wrecking through the supple flesh coupled with the sticky mess pressed against his own chest had been clue enough.

Pained, pitched pants and raspy, gritty breaths soon became the only sounds they could hear; replacing those of lewd whines and crude groans as the pair tried desperately to catch their breaths. The sight that the two of them presented was nothing short of limbless, of almost lifeless, for they were both equally sprawled— Chanyeol over Baekhyun, and Baekhyun over the table.

They were nothing but a mess of trembling limbs and heaving chests, and honestly, Chanyeol hadn’t expected otherwise. After all, it had been a good nine weeks since the last time the two of them had one of these…  _ sessions. _

_ “Fuck,”  _ Chanyeol exhales, the already deep tenor of his voice dropping down even lower in light of the high of lust. Slowing releasing the grip that he still had on the other’s thighs, Chanyeol gingerly peeled his fingers away, the calloused tips moving to rub soothing circles into the reddened skin.

Skin that would turn  _ purple. _

_ Marked. _

“... You really were asking for it today, weren’t you?” he continued, the tip of his nose gently trailing, nudging against the splatters of colour across the other’s neck, the brushing a comforting touch.

However, Baekhyun hadn’t responded in kind, for the student council president only rolled his eyes. It had been a feat for Chanyeol to have caught that, considering how the other still had his eyes closed, but once you take in the fact that they were still pressed chest to chest, and how Chanyeol had essentially buried his face in the crook of Baekhyun’s neck, it comes as no surprise that he caught on.

Besides, he has known Baekhyun for so long, and his body even more so.

“Fuck off, Park,” and the almost arrogant growl in which those syllables had been laced in only roused a chuckle from the other, for Chanyeol simply huffed through a smirk before pressing one last, rather fleeting kiss against a hickey; one of the many.

Dragging his hands from where they were still wrapped around the other’s  thighs to instead press against the table top, Chanyeol slowly began to push himself off of the other. Of course, the stickiness of Baekhyun’s cum still followed him, and Chanyeol couldn’t help but wince a little at the… rather uncomfortable feeling of it all, but that wasn’t a problem that a good pack of Kleenex couldn’t fix.

… but he couldn’t make it far, for the very same plush thighs had hurriedly caged him in, ankles locking around each other at the small of his back.

Before Chanyeol himself could make a crude comment about how  _ “I love your cum, Sweetheart, but I’d have much rather swallowed than let it dry on my skin”,  _ the other had beat him to it. Jaw dropping open in disbelief, Baekhyun forcefully tugged his wrists down, the action only serving to further jerk his body upwards and rattle the legs of the table.

“Untie me first, asshole!”

…  _ Oh… _

Clicking his tongue, Chanyeol quickly clamped his lips shut, successfully managing to hold back the...  _ unfavourable  _ comment as he proceeded to reach his arms forwards instead. Sure, that meant that he had to bear with the icky sensation of having drying cum splattered all over his chest for a few moments longer, but honestly Chanyeol would much rather deal with that than Baekhyun’s relentless and incessant nagging.

The dexterity packed in his thick fingers finally worked in his favour, for neither of them had to wait long before the knot came loose. It was a fact that the both of them had been thrilled by, and Baekhyun even more so, if the speed in which he brought his hands back down to his chest was of any hint.

Wrapping his own fingers about his own wrists, his digits got to work on soothing the reddened skin. Chanyeol would have felt bad about it— after all, the contrast between tan and rose was rather alarming— but he knew just how much he had liked it, and Baekhyun even more so.

Besides…

“Red really does suit you, huh, Byun?”

…

…

…

… all  _ that _ got him was a kick to his ass.

_ “Fuck!” _

“You deserved that and you  _ know it.” _

 

* * *

 

_ Two lines. _

_ … There were  _ two lines.

 

* * *

 

“Get off of me,  _ urgh—” _

A scoff swiftly interrupted the other, and Baekhyun only bit the inside of his bottom lip once Chanyeol’s drawl of “... you weren’t saying that literally fifteen seconds ago…” had processed. Splaying his palms on the other’s chest, Baekhyun began to firmly push the other student off whilst simultaneously unwrapping his legs from where they were hooked around Chanyeol’s waist.

Missionary was a rather staple position in their romps. That doesn’t mean to say that it was the  _ only _ position that they ever have sex in, of course not. With someone like Park Chanyeol, a stationary sex life was the last thing one can hope to expect on their list, a statement that Byun Baekhyun can vouch for wholly and completely.

Himself, as well as the…  _ fluid stains _ splattered literally all over the student council room.

God forbid they ever bring a backlight during the school checks.

Baekhyun himself  _ had _ thought about the possible reasonings behind why Chanyeol favored this position more than the others. From what he had heard about the other student, and from his own experiences with the Park Enterprise heir, Chanyeol, to put it rather bluntly, was rather…  _ gifted…  _ in the craft of sexual relations.

Baekhyun would never, ever,  _ ever _ trade rough, angry sex with Chanyeol for anything.

_ Anything. _

… not that Chanyeol needed to know that.

Baekhyun would much rather keep that statement shut and sealed, kept to only himself from now till the end of time, thank you very much. The vice president didn’t need any more things inflating his already rather ballooned ego and confidence-borderline-arrogance.

Besides, Baekhyun himself doesn’t think he would be too far off the mark if he claimed the same thing for Chanyeol. As far as Baekhyun is concerned, and as far as he had been _involved_ with the former, Park Chanyeol absolutely loved the pure and utter vulgarity of their sex, and it was obvious even outside of when the two of them were alone.

Today had been one of those cases.

“You came  _ so fast—” _

_ “Shut the  _ fuck  _ up, Byun—” _

Cackling at the moist towelettes thrown directly at his face, Baekhyun gingerly picked them off before folding them into neat little squares; a habit he had long come accustomed to doing before he started wiping down his own stained chest. Even though he had his gaze focused on his own torso, Baekhyun didn’t have to look up to know that Chanyeol was doing the same— it  _ was _ their routine, after all.

The reddening of his ears, however, were not.

Flicking his gaze back down to where he was wiping up the last few remnants of his own cum, Baekhyun mumbled out a quiet, “... did the summer dry spell get you that bad…?”, only to be put into yet another round of stitches once he caught the other stiffening from the edge of his vision. The action was immediately followed by a clicking of tongue, and Baekhyun hadn’t had to wait a single moment before he felt the burning of Chanyeol’s glare on his own skin.

“... I said  _ shut the  _ fuck  _ up,  _ Byun,” the words were growled out, yet the effect of possibly intimidating the other was lost once one took in the burning— the  _ brightly  _ burning ears. It proved for a comical sight, really;  _ The _ Park Chanyeol in all of his bare-chested, chiselled glory— sinews of muscles, the efforts of hours of blood, sweat, and tears in the gyms lining all about his frame; from his rounded shoulders all the way down to his sharpened Adonis belt— getting as red as a high school teenage girl being confronted by her crush.

All because he  _ came too quickly. _

But before Baekhyun himself could go into yet  _ another _ fit of laughter, Chanyeol had cut in with a curt, “Besides, it’s not like you’re any better,”, and before Baekhyun could question, obviously confused, Chanyeol quickly smirked.

That, unsurprisingly, resulted in Baekhyun growing even more confused. Tilting his head to the side, Baekhyun’s own features began to morph into one of his own signature expressions; eyebrows furrowed and eyes curiously squinted, topped off with a pitched hum pressed right against minutely pursed lips— one of wonder.

The expression would have been cute if it had been any other day, that was something that Chanyeol would admit, and he would have gladly divulged a tiny bit more attention on appreciating how adorably the droopy eyes were gazing up at him in curiosity. However, today was definitely not one of those days, for Chanyeol knew that that expression would soon be lost; contorting into one of embarrassment soon enough.

… and he was right, for as soon as Chanyeol had pointed his chin towards the lone piece of…  _ fabric _ lying quite explicitly, and obscenely, at the corner of the table—

“... You wore  _ panties.” _

…

…

…

… No fire had ever burned as  _ bright _ as the student council president had right then.

“... Fuck  _ off,  _ Park—”

“Guess I wasn’t the only one who was _desperate_ to stop the ‘dry spell’, huh—?”

“Get  _ out— Ohmygod—!” _

Muffled laughter, before the rustling of clothes and the brushing of metallic zippers against leather.

“We still aren’t done with our discussion, Byun!” came the call, the words tinted heavily with amusement and authority, the former even more so. “And don’t think I can’t see right through you— If you want me to fuck you, we can skip the whole arguing thing and go straight into it—!”

_ “Fuck  _ off, _ Ohmygod—!” _

…

…

…

“... and  _ that’s _ what makes the sex even  _ better…” _

“... Did you say something?”

_ “Why are you still  _ here—  _ Get  _ out!”

“Ok— Ow! Okay, okay—! I’m leaving, I’m leaving!”

 

* * *

 

_ "... What are you going to do about it, Baekhyun…?” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... I don’t know, Dae,” a shaky breath, a biting of lips, and a splaying of palms on a flat tummy. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … 5 weeks. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

“... I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

_ “God—”  _ the cry was followed immediately by a hand clamping over the bottom half of his face, and Kim Jongdae only furrowed his brows as he clenched his eyes shut; expression nothing short of pure and utter disgust. The sounds of forced retching, in spite of being muffled against skin, were still loud enough for everyone else in the cafeteria to hear, and Baekhyun couldn’t help the eye roll as he plopped down onto his seat.

“You’re being so overdramatic, goodness—”

A gasp instantly cut him off, and Baekhyun gave yet another eye roll, this time much more exaggeratedly, as soon as the muffled sputters of “You smell like a walking  _ sex doll _ and you’re calling me overdramatic?!” left Jongdae’s lips. With a huff leaving his own, Baekhyun simply waved his best friend off before focusing back on his own meal, proceeding to pick up his chopsticks and spoon—

— but both sets of utensils were quickly knocked out of his grip by a small, cylindrical little tube.

Hissing, Baekhyun’s own hands and fingers instantly flew to wrap around each other, digits soothing the place where the little tube had outright  _ attacked _ him; his knuckles, no less! 

“Jongdae, what the  _ fuck—” _

_ “Sanitise _ your hands first, you whore!” came the indignant reprimand, and Baekhyun momentarily stopped the soothing of his knuckles, which were growing a deeper red by the second, to instead meet gazes with the other. Of course, Baekhyun hadn’t put much effort into lifting his head completely, instead only shifting his eyes upwards from right beneath his lashes.

… almost as if Jongdae wasn’t worth the effort.

(Which was true, considering how that asshole freaking  _ assaulted _ him with a bottle of hand sanitiser.)

“Don’t look at me like that, Baekhyun,” Jongdae retorted, palm still very firmly pressed over both his nose and lips as he glared right back at the other. It was obvious the effort that he was taking to breathe right now, shoulders and chest lifting and expanding dramatically— desperately trying to take in sufficient oxygen even through a “mask”— but Baekhyun didn’t think twice about it.

This exact scenario had played out far too many times for him to even be bothered by it.

Shaking his head, Baekhyun reluctantly picked up the bottle of hand sanitiser before squeezing a dollop onto his palm. This, of course, was yet another “phase” in their little routine, and Baekhyun has long come to accept the fact that Jongdae would never let him go until he sanitisied his hands right then and there.

That doesn’t mean to say that Baekhyun was unhygienic in any way whatsoever, God no. Baekhyun was well-aware of just how unsanitary sex can be; much more how unsanitary rushed, rough sex in school, in the student council room of all places, can be. But Jongdae would never let up even if Baekhyun tried to convince him that he had washed his hands and gurgled his mouth seven times before coming down to the cafeteria.

Which was something he always,  _ always _ did.

Yet even though it has been months, almost a whole entire  _ year _ since the development of his and Chanyeol’s…  _ special relationship, _ Jongdae would always ensure that Baekhyun sanitised his hands.

“Who knows where that dick’s been, man,” Jongdae would always counter to each and every single one of Baekhyun’s relentless arguments of how he had washed his hands  _ raw. _ Baekhyun would sometimes pull an “in my hands, my mouth and then my ass”, and this would only result in Jongdae retching even more, sometimes to the point where it was borderline genuine.

Baekhyun never takes any offence to it, of course, not at all. After all, Park Chanyeol’s reputation of a suave casanova was not one that was unknown, much less a secret. 

With straight eyebrows nestled above gorgeously almond-shaped eyes and an elegantly pointed, sharp nose perched right above generously plump, pinkened lips, Park Chanyeol carried the characteristic features of not only the renowned Park family, but that of literally every single high school girl’s walking Prince Charming. If he wasn’t already perfect enough, the fact that the student was the vice president of the student council, on top of being a top student himself, would have  secured his grip on the title.

But as expected, we can’t all please everyone, and there was no bigger testament to that about Park Chanyeol than Kim Jongdae’s whole entire existence himself.

“I just don’t  _ get it, _ Baekhyun!” he exclaimed, and the raspy tone of his voice coupled with the way in which he slumped down onto the table had given away his exasperation quite obviously. His palm was still slapped over his lips and nose though, so Baekhyun could only sigh as he strained to process the heavily muffled words.

“Just  _ why _ would you even go for a fuckboy of all people, a  _ fuckboy?!” _ That, however, hadn’t roused so much of a reaction from Baekhyun as Jongdae had probably been expecting, for Baekhyun’s subsequent shoulder shrug and eye roll pulled out a rather disappointed groan from the other.

Deciding to humour his friend, and by extension himself, Baekhyun mumbled out a quiet “Well, he sure fucks like one too,” before hurriedly bringing his arms up to shield his face, laughter spilling out from his lips as he successfully managed to block Jongdae’s palm that wanted to meet his head.

“Oh my  _ God—” _ Jongdae breathed out, the incensed disbelief obvious in his widened eyes and raised brows, “that is fucking  _ disgusting—  _ Baekhyun  _ ew—” _

Laughing even louder, Baekhyun retaliated with a loud “Well— it’s true!” 

“And that’s  _ exactly _ it!” a groan, before Jongdae finally, removed his palm from his face. It was apparent how Jongdae had many more things to say, what with how his uncovering of his nose and mouth usually signalled the beginning of another one of his tirades. Yet with how he had so obviously been depriving his own self of oxygen for a good three or so minutes, it was only logical that his body focused on breathing  _ first, _ rather than going into yet another one of his classic rants.

Mind over body? Not for Jongdae, especially if he actually wants to  _ live. _

Baekhyun has seen this countless of times, but the sight of Jongdae’s chest and shoulders rapidly expanding and rising, alongside his desperate inhales of breath through slackened jaws would never not be amusing.

“I honestly don’t get why you do this,” Baekhyun mused, lips still tilted up along the corners as he continued to watch how Jongdae dramatically struggled to breathe. Baekhyun was more than sure that he hadn’t smelt of anything akin to sex; spritzing on a bit of cologne for extra measure.

“We always change into new uniforms afterwards—”

“That’s because you guys always end up with  _ cum stains _ on them!” came the retaliation, and Jongdae had never looked even more grossed out than he did then. “I don’t even know how you two do it sometimes, doesn’t he always wear a condom? How the fuck do you end up with stains on your  _ collar—” _

“Blowjobs with condoms aren’t as fun, sweetie.”

…

…

…

“... Why did I even ask.”

“Same thing I’m wondering too, Dae, same thing I’m wondering too.”

 

* * *

 

_ “... Are you…” a pause, a deep inhale, a clenching of fists. _

_ Bracing. _

_ “... Are you gonna tell  _ him…?”

…

…

…

_ “I—” a shaky inhale, a trembling exhale. _

_ “I  _ can’t.”

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... I can’t tell him Jongdae I— I—” _

_ “—… I  _ won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Shit—  _ Fuck,  _ damn it—!” _

_ “What’s taking you so long, fuck, get  _ in _ me already—!” _

_“It broke, Byun, god fucking damn it—_ _we can’t fuck without a condom—”_

_ “—Then  _ fuck it,  _ Park!” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ A splitting of thighs, a gliding of fingers; rubbing and teasing,  _ playful.

_ “... Take me raw, Chanyeol. _

_ “... Fuck me now, and fuck me  _ raw.”

 

* * *

 

**Week 7**

_ … It’s still flat, isn’t it…? _

Splaying a palm across his abdomen, Baekhyun glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. His expression carried traces of nothing but scrutiny; fiercely furrowed brows hiding hyper-focused brown orbs, all of which were resting above a minutely scrunched nose and frowny lips, and the longer he focused all of his attention on analysing the shape and feel of his tummy, the more exaggerated the features got.

Based on the doctor’s words, Baekhyun was on his seventh week of pregnancy starting this week, and although she had said that he wouldn’t start showing until well into the 12th week, that hadn’t done much to quell Baekhyun’s anxiety about the entire…  _ situation. _

But honestly, Baekhyun doesn’t think that  _ anything _ could do much to calm his nerves about it all  _ period. _

He was just 18; a regular 18-year-old high school student with plans and goals and dreams for the future. A gifted student attending  _ the _ school for the intellectual,  _ Seoul Science High School, _ and taking on multiple responsibilities, all of which were a feat in itself. Spearheading the direction of the school and the student body with his role as the student council president, topping it all off with how he was a renowned top scholar and a candidate for scholarships from esteemed universities all across the country—

—… Baekhyun had never thought that he’d be adding  _ ‘pregnant’ _ to his list of accolades.

But considering how the… the  _ child _ that he was bearing was none other than  _ Park Chanyeol’s _ own, Baekhyun doesn’t think that it would have made much of an accolade regardless, and it was a sentiment that Jongdae shared with him.

_ “On the bright side of things, at least your kid’s gonna hold a Guinness World Record for something once it pops out.” _ Baekhyun remembers Jongdae musing once they had stepped out of the OB-GYN’s office. It had been an attempt at livening the mood a little, and the effort was something that Baekhyun appreciated then.

He remembers having been rather shaken, and by ‘rather’ he actually means ‘extremely’, so take note. Which was why he had been grateful that he had decided to take Jongdae along with him; he wasn’t famous around school for being humorously cut-throat for nothing. Besides, he was Baekhyun’s one and only best friend, so he  _ was _ expected to be there either way.

Yet Baekhyun never realised how much he truly needed Jongdae there with him up until the moment where the doctor had, rather jovially, announced that he was indeed carrying, and that the little one currently residing in his womb was about five weeks old. Of course he already had his suspicions, what with the sudden nausea and fatigue, alongside his increased visits to the bathroom, all pointing to one possible scenario, and how he had just felt…  _ different. _

_ “That’s expected, Baekhyun-sshi,” _ he remembers the OB-GYN stating, her words so comforting and warm, it would have brought Baekhyun to tears if he wasn’t already trying so hard not to lose it in the office. Yet he was curious, the doctor’s words ringing quite alarmingly in his head, because as far as he was aware pregnancy symptoms didn’t start right till about four or six weeks, did they? Was there something that was going on that made his symptoms start to show up so early? Was he— was something  _ wrong _ with him…?

_ “Well,” _ the doctor continued, her eyes soft and almost maternal as she shifted her gaze between her patient’s own and his still flat belly.  _ That, _ of course, was definitely the worst possible way she could have started her explanation, because the immense fear that saturated Baekhyun’s blood instantly was something that Baekhyun would never want to experience ever again. 

Thankfully, the doctor had probably seen the look of sheer and utter panic on his face, and also the way Baekhyun’s grip on Jongdae’s hand had tightened to the point where Baekhyun’s own palms were white and Jongdae’s features screamed pain. Wanting to quickly dispel any sort of, well,  _ irrational _ fear, the doctor hurriedly waved her hands as a chuckle left her lips.

_ “It isn’t anything  _ bad, _ not at all, so you don’t need to worry,” _ she continued, lips stretched into a smile. Her posture had been nothing short of calm and collected, composed, and with how there hadn’t been a single ounce of worry lining her face nor lacing her tone, it succeeded in giving Baekhyun the green light at finally relaxing. 

_ “The only reason behind your early and already rather intense symptoms would be the fact that you are a male carrier,” _ she continued, and she only laughed as soon as both Baekhyun and Jongdae released similar, almost identical  _ “ah”s. _

_ “The baby is perfectly fine, so you don’t have to worry about that,” _ and Baekhyun remembers how Jongdae had scoffed. He hadn’t questioned him then, and only resorted to giving him the stink eye as the doctor plucked out a few pamphlets and flyers from her drawer before handing it over to Baekhyun. It wasn’t until they were out of the office did Baekhyun call him out on it.

… and by ‘calling out’, Baekhyun means jabbing Jongdae in the side,  _ hard. _

_ “Ow—  _ Fuck,  _ dude! Why’d you do that for?!” _

_ “What kind of friend scoffs at a baby’s health— bitch what’s  _ wrong _ with you?!” _

_ “That’s because I found Dr. Kim’s statement funny, dumbass— Honestly, if she thinks that  _ that _ baby’s gonna turn out fine then we really should re-evaluate her smarts, because there’s no way in absolute  _ hell _ is that baby gonna turn out okay, not with having  _ you two _ as her fathers.” _

… and  _ that, _ apparently, had been the acclaimed “World Record” that the baby would have once it was born; the world record for having the absolute Stupidest™ Fathers in the whole entire world.

_ “Honestly, Baekhyun—,” _ Jongdae had sighed, exasperation lacing his words and winding about his frame,  _ “you really, really,  _ really _ couldn’t wait five seconds for him to put on a condom…?” _

Baekhyun only rolled his eyes, and considering how the emotional toll from that morning, coupled with the physical one he had been faced with for the past five weeks, it all had lumped themselves in a form of an increasingly easily agitated Byun Baekhyun. A.K.A., someone who really, really,  _ reaaaaaally _ couldn’t stand for any more stupid comments, much less those from a certain Kim Jongdae.

Fuck what he said about bringing him in for moral support and emotional pillar, alright? Fuck it! The last thing a pregnant man needs after he had been dropped the ‘P’ bomb was some  _ dumbass _ to yap about  _ how _ he got *insert ‘P’ word* in the first place.

_ “Well—” _ Baekhyun began, eyes rolled and jaw tight as he started piecing together the words he wanted to truly yell in Jongdae’s face, but considering the fact that the both of them were still in a public space, Baekhyun couldn’t do so. He’s already got *insert ‘P’ word* added onto his list of… well,  _ notable _ isn’t the right word but he can take what he can get— but yes, he’s already got  _ that _ word on his list of “accomplishments”, Baekhyun doesn’t want to add “public nuisance” and “familial disgrace” to the list either.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Baekhyun only mumbled out a vehement,  _ “Apparently his dick had been too good for me to want to wait, huh?”,  _ to which Jongdae— that fucking asshole— only  _ gagged. _

_ “I sure hope the sex was worth it, sweetheart,” _ Jongdae drawled, features still scrunched up in revulsion. Baekhyun had then felt much rather than saw just how Jongdae trailed his eyes all across his frame; feeling each and every single burning gaze his friend bore into his being, and he had never wanted to slap the absolute  _ fuck _ out of Jongdae more than he had right then.

… He was doing his very best to hold himself back, though, trust me. But when someone ends off their judgmental once-overs, especially in the situation that the two of them were in now, with a scoffed  _ “Let’s just pray that Park’s into pregnant sex then, shall we?”... _

… he really, really,  _ reaaaaaaally _ can’t hold himself back.

And that had brought Baekhyun to where he was today; standing half-dressed in front of his full-length mirror with both palms laying flat on his abdomen and eyes boring down onto each and every single inch of his frame with scrutiny they had never known before.

(The fact that Jongdae’s bruise still hadn’t healed even though it had been two weeks is  _ not _ the point.)

Despite what Dr. Kim had said about how he wouldn’t start showing until he was well over twelve weeks, it hadn’t done much to quell Baekhyun’s anxiety. Even though Baekhyun himself knows that he isn’t  _ looking _ pregnant, he can’t help but think that he does.

That doesn’t bode well for him, of course not. That little seedling of doubt revolving around the state of his pregnant belly— or, more accurately, the  _ lack thereof, _ only served to fuel his paranoia. Thoughts of how he was already starting to show, all of which were fueled by the doctor’s words of how he was a ‘male carrier’ and hence his “symptoms would start to show earlier as compared to female carriers” were all only fuel to the flame of crippling anxiety and baseless worry.

“—Baekhyun-ah!” came a call, and Baekhyun instantly snapped out of his self-induced panic as he hurriedly reach about his room in search for his school top. He could hear Baekbeom’s footsteps progressively getting louder and louder, which only meant that he was getting closer and closer to Baekhyun’s own room., which only served to fuel Baekhyun’s own rush into getting his shirt and  _ covering his belly. _

… Yeah, Baekbeom doesn’t know.

… yet.

… he thinks.

“—It’s already 6.57am, Pumpkin,” Baekbeom continued on, and it was the realisation that he was just right outside his room did Baekhyun did up the final few buttons of his shirt with a speed one that was unknown to him right until that very moment. It wasn’t until Baekhyun was finally reaching for his student council president tie did Baekbeom open the door, and the older Byun had popped his head in with a smile.

Which only meant that Baekhyun didn’t look as wrecked as he thought he did, so  _ that _ was a relief.

“... You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.”

Baekhyun only grinned back, lips stretching around his teeth in a much similar fashion to Baekbeom’s own. It was clear that Baekhyun was relieved, reassured that his school shirt was enough to cover and conceal his belly from his brother, and it was with that that he scoffed down his breakfast.

After all, if anyone,  _ anyone _ were to point out how his belly was “looking more round” today (even though it was still as flat as Park Chanyeol’s own bony ass), he  _ could  _ very well chalk it up to his breakfast, can’t he?

 

* * *

 

“Ah—!” Baekhyun was just about to stuff his last mouthful of rice when Baekbeom had interrupted him. His brother had been at the sink, washing up his own bowls and utensils he called for the other, and Baekhyun quickly flickered his gaze down from where they were boring into the kitchen clock to focus on Baekbeom nstead. Making a sound of inquiry, Baekhyun hummed as a sign of acknowledgement, and Baekbeom stated his question then.

“It’s the first Monday of the month, isn’t it?”, and Baekhyun chirped a quiet ‘yes’ amidst his last mouthful (gross, yes, but Baekhyun didn’t want to seem rude. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had anyone to impress in their household anyway; what with it just being the two of them). “That means that you have your monthly student council meeting, don’t you?”

At that, Baekhyun stiffened.

_ Right,  _ he thought,  _ the meeting. _

_ The meeting where all the Council members gather to discuss the plan for the month ahead. _

_ … and  _ ‘all’  _ includes  _ Chanyeol.

… Park Chanyeol.

_ Fuck. _

“—So are you going to come home at 6.00pm tonight? I’ll get dinner and then we can eat together before you go back for night studying—?”

“—Uh,” Baekhyun quickly  interrupted, needing to stop his brother from talking more about their usual First-Mondays-Of-Every-Month routine, not wanting to be reminded and not wanting the image of a certain vice president to conjure up in his head. Of course, the fact that Baekhyun himself was all of a sudden pregnant with his kid was one thing, but it was the very fact that Baekhyun knew  _ exactly _ how today would, or more accurately, would be expected to pan out that was his biggest concern.

See, the one and only reason why Baekhyun always came home at 6.00pm in the evening on days when he has meetings like this was due to the fact that Chanyeol and him would, well, fuck for an hour after the meeting ends.

Worded quite crassly, but not any less true, yeah?

The meetings would take place any time from 2.00pm to 3.00pm, and then would end off at around 4.00pm to 4.30pm, and with how Baekhyun only lives at most a half hour away from school, that meant that he was supposed to reach home either by 5.00pm or 5.30pm, give or take a few minutes, right?

Wrong.

Because guess who  _ has _ to have a Park cock up his ass for at least a good hour after the meeting?

Yeah, that’s right. 

_ Byun Baekhyun, _ that’s who.

And I mean— it isn’t like he’s  _ complaining, _ oh no. In fact, Baekhyun, as much as he hates to admit, much enjoys being fucked by the Park heir, as he has mentioned before. Besides, it made for a good way to get rid of all the pent up frustrations and anger they hold for the other from their systems; all of which were brought upon by the other party themselves.

You really think they disagree on things because they truly stand by what they said during meetings? Hell no! It’s just a way for them to rile the other up, get them all bothered and annoyed and  _ angry, _ which only fuels the heat and passion of their sex afterwards.

It’s a game, and they love to play it.

The  _ both _ of them.

… but with the fear revolving around the shape of his belly (and also the very apparent, and much more important fact that he was  _ pregnant with his kid)— _

—… Baekhyun doesn’t think that he can keep up with their routine for much longer, if  _ at all. _

…

…

…

“... I’ll be back earlier today, hyung.

“... I’ll be back earlier.”

 

* * *

 

_ “I’m so proud of you Pumpkin, I’m so proud!” _

_ A shy giggle, an excited clap. _

_ “That’s all that Baekhyunnie wants to do, Hyung! That’s all that Baekhyunnie wants to do!” _

_ A combing of hairs, a brushing of fringe, and a cradle of plump, supple cheeks. _

_ “... You always do, Pumpkin.” _

_ “... You  _ always do.”

 

* * *

 

“Where do you think  _ you’re  _ going?” The question hadn’t fazed Baekhyun, actually being something that he expected. Considering how they had just ended yet another round of heated discussion, both of them carrying differing opinions, the only next thing that followed in their routine was the  _ sex. _

Now, you might think that  _ ‘Well, if Baekhyun wanted to avoid sex with Chanyeol, why did he get into such a heated discussion with him in the first place?’ _ and, well— really the only argument that Baekhyun has for this is the fact that that he rather enjoys debates, and also that he’s a stubborn motherfucker, alright? If he has a point to prove, he  _ has a point to prove, _ and it wasn’t as if his points were ever wrong; this had happened so little times in his whole entire life as a student here in Seoul Science High School that Baekhyun could count them all on literally one hand.

… but as he stood in front of a smirking, of an arrogantly smirking Park Chanyeol, Baekhyun is very much starting to regret having let his stubborn need to prove Chanyeol wrong take control.

The vice president was looking at him almost cockily; head tilted to the side with a lone eyebrow raised, arrogance and anticipation swimming rather robustly about his brown orbs. His own chin had been tilted up quite a bit, which only served to further emphasise the proud curve and vain point of his nose, alongside bringing more attention to the smug tilt of his lips.

The expression that the Park’s features had morphed into screamed of nothing but pure, pretentious arrogance, the confidence with which he had presumed that Baekhyun  _ wouldn’t _ leave quite obvious. However, it only grew more apparent, for when all that he was responded with was Baekhyun picking up his speed in regards to packing his things, Chanyeol swiftly, and with a substantial amount of grace that Baekhyun thought shouldn’t have been possible for someone so  _ lanky _ , forced Baekhyun down onto his chair before gripping the arm handles; effectively locking the other one in.

Baekhyun’s immediate and reflexive action had been to squeak, the sudden rush of movements causing his own vision to blur and thinking to muddle. Yet the lone movement that had been brought about almost  _ instinctively _ was him reaching out for his school jacket; fingers gripping onto the wool and yanking it off of the back of the chair, splaying it over his lap and abdomen.

“I asked you a  _ question, _ Byun,” Chanyeol continued on, and the low baritone, one that sounded so much like a  _ growl, _ was successful in pulling Baekhyun out of his thoughts. The latter only looked back up, gaze flickering from his lap to meet that of the vice president.

… to meet Park Chanyeol’s stern, stringent, yet at the same time,  _ hungry _ gaze.

Tightening his palms around the handles of the chair, Chanyeol only leaned in; movements concise and gaze calculated. It was obvious just what he was trying to do; with how he had tilted his head and was inching ever so closely, ever so slowly; the arch of his jaw and neck growing more apparent with each second, Baekhyun could very well predict where exactly Park Chanyeol was taking this.

Which was why he hadn’t been surprised at all when, soon enough, all that he could see was tanned flesh, when all that he could hear was calm, collected, and composed heavy breathing, and when all that he could  _ feel _ was Park Chanyeol’s words, Park Chanyeol’s  _ breath, _ on the shell of his ear.

The heat radiating off of the other’s body was growing increasingly warmer, more intense with each second, and it was this fact combined with how his body had been tuned, had been  _ conditioned _ to react to that familiar heat, that had Baekhyun’s breath hitching. For all the weeks, for all the months that Baekhyun had been on this same exact chair, in this same exact room, and in this same exact situation, and with how each and every single instance had always,  _ always _ played out…

… it didn’t surprise him that he was starting to get  _ hard. _

With his own breath stuttering in his chest and his own palms starting to sweat, Baekhyun’s eyes only fluttered shut as he instinctively leaned his head back; exposing the arch of his own neck. He could feel his own pulse start to skyrocket, the anticipation and lust brought about by Park Chanyeol’s deep voice, deep  _ breaths _ apparent, and Baekhyun had tried his hardest to calm himself down. However, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to get a hold of his own breathing had been the absolute  _ worst _ thing to do, for Baekhyun had gravely miscalculated, and quite frankly blatantly forgotten where he was.

… and where he was, was literally an  _ inch _ away from Park Chanyeol.

… if the heat from the other’s body hadn’t been enough to have Baekhyun’s whole entire being both freeze and slacken in light of the almost pure  _ control _ that the other had over his body, the distinct scent of earth and citrus would have been.

“... So,” Chanyeol continued on, and Baekhyun hurriedly bit his lip in a desperate attempt to hold in the whimper that oh so  _ badly _ wanted to escape. The other’s tone had not lost a single ounce of its characteristic grittiness, but with the way the sole syllable had been  _ breathed _ out, the deep baritone had only gotten deeper, and the breathiness had only gotten huskier; a  _ caress. _

A chuckle was the next thing that followed; the raspy sound flowing over the shell of his ear and trickling in, and the whimper couldn’t have been contained this time. With the pitched sound escaping his throat, Baekhyun gently turned his head away as he bore down on his lip harder, eyebrows scrunched and lids clenching as he breathed roughly,  _ raggedly _ through his nose.

His chest had soon enough started heaving too, and if the way in which Chanyeol’s own breath had fanned a little more rushed, a little more forceful against his ear was anything to go by, the other had noticed it too.

“...  _ bothered,  _ Byun…?” It was said in nothing but a mere whisper, yet the huskiness and breathiness was in no means lost to the addressed. Instead, Baekhyun could say with utmost confidence that it had actually  _ grew,  _ possibly multiplied too, and the effects of those three syllables, said in that specific tone, was not lost to Baekhyun.

For his pants had  _ never _ been this tight, and especially not in the past hour.

“... You’re  _ adorable,  _ Byun,” the other continued, and the light tilt to his tone only signalled to Baekhyun that the man had known  _ exactly _ the effect that he had on the other, had known  _ exactly  _ the place in which Baekhyun was in.

It was arrogant and cocky, but the overconfidence and pride was by no means unfounded.

_ Everyone _ knew the effect that Park Chanyeol had over Byun Baekhyun.

_ Everyone. _

… but most  _ especially,  _ Park Chanyeol himself.

The man then proceeded to laugh; the sound nothing but light and airy, obviously amused. This only coaxed out yet another whimper from Baekhyun, and had only forced him to turn his head away even more. It was an action that would have been successful, really, if it hadn’t been for the thumb and index finger hooking under his chin, halting his movements entirely.

The pull wasn’t fought off, Baekhyun instead letting his head fall forward and Chanyeol guide it back up. His movements were slow; but they were no less confident,  _ dominant. _ Baekhyun could feel the control, the  _ power _ packed in the two fingers, in the short movement, and it very much mirrored the aura that was radiating off of the other. 

… but it wasn’t until Baekhyun had finally fluttered his eyes open, soft lids blinking back the focus, did he truly feel, was he truly reminded of the control, of the hold the man before him had on himself.

“... You’re adorable,” Chanyeol repeated once again, and Baekhyun could see just how the emotions had started playing about in his eyes; gaze locked on the entrancing swirls; the morphing of unfazed to admiration, of fondness to lust, of desire to  _ dominance. _

… and of dominance to  _ power. _

“... and you’re  _ all mine.” _

That was all it took, for Baekhyun soon enough found his head  _ slammed _ against the headrest, eyelids fluttered shut and brows furrowed as yet another whimper left his throat; although this time, sounding much more pitched and much more  _ pathetic— lustful. _

Chanyeol’s lips hadn’t halted, hadn’t even hesitated. The force of his lips had forced the other’s head back; the slotting of his own plump lips against adorably slanted ones orchestrated so perfectly, so effortlessly, the experience behind it all obvious. It was as if the man knew exactly where to land his lips, knew exactly where they fit perfectly, knew exactly where their lips met the best, and considering just how much they’ve been in this same exact situation before, it comes as no surprise.

The heat between the two was only growing, the tension and desire curling in wisps about the two of them; the temperature hiking up. Baekhyun could feel just how his own breath was starting to leave him, how his own chest was starting to heave, and how his own lungs were starting to absolutely  _ beg _ for air with each moment, with each  _ second _ that he had Park Chanyeol’s lips on his.

He knew  _ exactly _ how to kiss, but he knew exactly how to kiss  _ Byun Baekhyun _ even  _ more. _

Whining at the light, almost coaxing,  _ teasing _ lick pressed against the seam of his lips, Baekhyun gently parted them, welcoming the other’s slick muscle in. It was obvious how the other had been impatient, for Chanyeol hadn’t hesitated for even a second before he started trailing his tongue all over the other’s teeth and gums, licking and lathering them, almost  _ marking. _

Feeling his entire frame slacken with each swipe of the other’s tongue, Baekhyun could only clutch into the front of the other student’s jacket; thin fingers curling white into the soft polyester. His own expression was depicting of his growing loss of control; the furrow of his brows and relaxing of his closed lids a testament to each and every ounce of control he was handing over to the other, something which Chanyeol had appreciated greatly, if the smirk curling along the edges of his lips were of any indication.

“You’re so _desperate,_ aren’t you, baby?” Chanyeol cooed, the huskiness obvious in thanks to the lust, the breathiness obvious in thanks to the want. His fingers hadn’t left their perch from Baekhyun’s chin, and Chanyeol only gave his lips— parted in all of their lusciously red and gorgeously abused glory— one final lick, _playful,_ before chuckling.

His gaze retained its fondness as he trailed them down all the way from the other’s eyes down to his lips, before landing on where his thumb was hooked onto Baekhyun’s chin. Starting with slow, languid traces of circles all about the soft skin there, Chanyeol gently wiped away all traces of saliva, gaze nothing short of affectionate as he watched in his peripheral how Baekhyun was panting, desperately taking in breaths.

“... and yet there you were,” he continued, and Baekhyun had felt more than heard the way in which his tone had dropped; all traces of fond affection gone and instead firm,  _ stringent. _ His actions had been the same too, the strength with which he was using to clean off Baekhyun’s now dry chin mirrored in that of the firmness in his tone— strong,  _ unrelenting— _ and Baekhyun could only whine.

Yet before the sound could leave his lips, before his own plumpened ones could curl around a plead, Chanyeol had swiftly leaned in; the distance between their lips dangerously close. 

The other had then flickered his gaze up from where they were focused on his own lips, and Baekhyun only bit his inner cheek as he felt his entire frame freeze and seize— limbs locking and throat clamping as soon as Chanyeol’s met his own.

… and they had screamed of nothing,  _ nothing,  _ but pure, unadulterated,  _ power. _

“... there you were, baby,” a low whisper, muted in its anger _ ,  _ “... wanting to  _ leave.” _

… and it was with that that Baekhyun found himself pressed back on the back of the armchair yet again, Chanyeol’s lips on his and tongue seeking his own. He hadn’t had to wait long before the other’s lips curled around his own tongue, Chanyeol’s own retreating back into its own cavern as his lips began sucking, dragging all along the length of Baekhyun’s own; lathering it.

The latter simply moaned, voice pitched and cries breathy as his jaw slackened, entire frame growing boneless as he fully and truly gave all control to the other.

… yet he had quickly sobered up, his own muddled brain rewiring and limbs unfreezing as soon as he felt Chanyeol’s fingers grip onto the material of the varsity jacket splayed over his lap, tossing it aside.

_ The baby. _

_ Fuck. _

Feeling panic bleed into his veins, Baekhyun’s eyes instantly shot open as he yanked his lips free from the lock Chanyeol had them in, head slamming into the headrest in a manner unlike that before.

… yet the expression on his face was anything  _ but. _

With his eyes blown wide open and his own lips parted, Baekhyun only swallowed as he hurriedly reached around for the jacket. Thankfully, it hadn’t landed all that far, and Baekhyun’s movements were swift enough to make it seem like as though the jacket hadn’t left his lap in the first place— smooth, efficient, and precise.

Yet as smooth as his quest to get back his jacket may be, that didn’t mean that his escape from the room would be as such, and a fuming and just as confused Park Chanyeol was one major,  _ major _ factor.

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Byun?!” the other had snapped, tone retaining doses of the huskiness and breathlessness that it was doused in just seconds earlier, with the majority of it all getting replaced by confusion and a whole lot of frustration.

Baekhyun had pulled himself away from the kiss so harshly, that the force with which he did had been enough for him to skid backwards on the armchair— quite a considerable distance too. That, of course, had only resulted in Park Chanyeol’s own hands hanging free, after having lost their grip on Baekhyun’s chin and the armrest, and all of which only served the ‘lost’ ensemble that he was portraying.

His lips had yet to seal shut, and couple that with how the furrow between his brows hadn’t settled and how his gaze hadn’t lost their sheer fury and utter confusion, Baekhyun had known instinctively that Chanyeol wasn’t done talking. Yet he also knew that if he  _ were _ to let Chanyeol talk, he would start demanding answers.

Answers that Baekhyun couldn’t  _ give. _

… and it was with that realisation, that thought alone that Baekhyun picked up his bag; movements swift and graceful in their sheer focus and determination to just  _ get the hell away,  _ did Baekhyun manage to curve around Chanyeol.

But of course he didn’t just  _ leave _ him just like that. For all that’s said and done, and as much as Baekhyun finds Chanyeol annoying outside of their sexual escapades, he isn’t an asshole. So it was with quick and curt  “I need to get home—”s and “I’m sorry—”s did Baekhyun finally leave.

He hadn’t paid attention to the reality that Chanyeol was still just as frustrated and just as confused as before, maybe even more so, but that was just a tiny detail in the grand scheme of things.

… because after all, what was ‘Chanyeol getting blue balled’ compared to, ‘Chanyeol-and-Baekhyun-having-a-baby-together-because-they-fucked-up-once-during-sex’?

Tiny Detail VS. Grand Scheme of Things.

… yet there was still a  _ grander _ scheme of things too, one that Baekhyun himself was not fully and entirely ready to face, and as he splayed a palm over his lower abdomen, Baekhyun could only purse his lips as the reality of his situation began dawning on him, yet again.

… It might not be something that he wants to face, might even be something that he would put off for weeks, maybe even  _ months _ if he could.

But reality was always different, and Baekhyun has come to realise that the grander scheme of things— it was something that he had to face sooner, rather than later.

… after all…

…

…

…

_ … This isn’t going to make you proud, Hyung. _

_ … this isn’t going to make you proud  _ at all.


	3. Chapter 3

_ A rustle of paper, a clearing of a throat. _

_ “... This— this is the list of options that we have…” _

_ Silence, before a sigh; resigned, yet  _ worried.

_ “... we don’t have to go through with— with  _ this _ if you don’t want to, y’know…? We can ring Dr. Kim up and book an appointment and—” _

_ “— It’s too expensive, Dae…” _

_ “... It’s far too expensive.” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 9**

_ “Eurgh—”  _ Jongdae was quick to flick his wad of napkins to the other student, watching in mild satisfaction as the packet hit Baekhyun right smack in the middle of his forehead. The disgust was quick to mask his features once again though, eyebrows quickly retained their furrow and his lips to their downturned state.

_ “Seriously, _ Baekhyun?” he exclaimed, tone sour as he gave his best friend a onceover; eyes trailing from where the tips of his hairs were still dripping with perspiration, down to his flushed cheeks and parted lips, panting. It was obvious that Baekhyun had been exerting himself, and considering just how often  _ this _ particular Baekhyun has appeared in front of him before, Jongdae’s mind couldn’t help but go straight down to the one and only thing he could think of.

“You’re pregnant with  _ his _ kid and you’re  _ still _ fucking him—”

“I wasn’t  _ fucking _ him, oh my  _ God—” _ Baekhyun replied back hotly, eyes blown wide and lips gaping. Bracing his arms against the edge of the table, Baekhyun huffed out a breath before quickly sweeping his eyes over the dining hall. He had his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth all the while, and it was clear to Jongdae that the other was evaluating whether or not the coast was clear enough to say whatever it was that he wanted to say.

He hadn’t had to wait long though, for Baekhyun had deemed his search clear enough and was now focused back entirely on Jongdae.

“I  _ didn’t _ fuck him, you absolute jackass—” a slap on the forehead, one that was hard enough to get Kim Jongdae reeling back, spine arching quite dangerously so. A loud whine was soon heard, and Baekhyun rolled his eyes once he was presented with Jongdae’s own glare. However, seeing as how he had his fingers soothing the reddening spot and his hands shielding his face, the effect of that heated stare was instantly diluted. 

… not like it was ever effective in the first place. It’s  _ Kim Jongdae _ of all people.

“I was running,” Baekhyun carried on, tone now void of any malice, instead taking on a much more neutral, more factual tone. His words soon dawned on the other, and Baekhyun could see the exact moment when it did; eyebrows raised to mid-forehead, blown eyes and even  _ more _ blown pupils, nostrils flaring, and jaw dropping open, slack. 

_ “That’s _ how you plan to get rid of it?!” Jongdae exclaimed, unaware and even more uncaring of his volume as he focused all of his attention entirely on the other. “Baekhyun— That’s  _ not _ healthy! And forget about it being not healthy, fuck it isn’t even  _ safe!” _

His arms were now raised, hands open and fingers slack, but the rest of his frame had been stiff, spine straight, rigid in his incredulity. It was clear that he still had fuel to burn, if the way he had inhaled and how his eyes seemingly glowed even brighter were of any indication.

But it was that last word that threw Baekhyun off completely, the words forcing themselves past his lips before he even  _ realised. _

_ “— Nothing _ is going to be safe for me, Jongdae!” With his chest heaving, Baekhyun only glared at the other, his own eyes now blown in a way that mirrored Jongdae’s own, but for completely different reasons. 

Baekhyun couldn’t explain exactly the reason behind the sheer intensity of his anger; could feel it all rushing through his veins. He couldn’t understand why he was getting so heated up over a discussion that had occurred previously, even multiple times before, because shouldn’t this have been old news by now? Shouldn’t this topic be wrung out, and dried?

… but maybe that was exactly why.

Having had talked about this before, about his  _ options, _ Jongdae must have known that honestly, there really wasn’t many options out there available for Baekhyun to choose from. After all, he had been right there with him when they were evaluating his choices; right from the safest, to the most dangerous.

… and considering how an abortion at Dr. Kim’s clinic would cost him a whole $600 straight out of his pocket, the both of them had been quick to cross that one out. In fact, they had to cross out each and every single possible medical abortion, for after an entire week of intense research and hushed questioning and stuttered “I’m asking for a friend”s, the both of them had long come to realise that honestly, $600 for a confidential, risk-free, and 100% safe abortion was actually one of the cheapest rates that Seoul had to offer.

It had been a tough pill to swallow, that fact, so hard to the point that initially Baekhyun and Jongdae had refused to do so. Thoughts, but more accurately labelled as  _ fantasies, _ played out in both their heads about them somehow getting the funds to be able to pay Dr. Kim, and these fantasies were rampant for a good week. 

Baekhyun was thinking about how he could lie a little to Baekbeom, telling him how their school were doing an event that needed donations, and Baekhyun, as the president and hence the head of the student body,  _ had _ to kickstart the drive. Jongdae had gone off about how he could maybe pull some funds from his mother’s bank account, saying he had other school supplies to pay for;  _ I’m participating in this competition and it needs me to conduct my own experiments, but it’s all entirely self-funded. _

… but those had all been thrown out quick enough, for it didn’t take them long to realise that pulling bullshit, half-assed reasons and excuses from their asses and outright  _ lying _ to the very people who were keeping a roof over their heads just wasn’t the right thing to do;  _ immoral. _

… and it wasn’t as if they could use their scholarship money either; it couldn’t even be “withdrawn” from the school’s funds. The few thousand grand was kept safe and locked up in the school’s own bank books, and both Baekhyun and Jongdae had no means of access to them. Combine that fact with both students were still entirely financially reliant on their older brother and mother respectively, it truly didn’t leave them with much of a choice soon enough.

Which meant that any option that came with a price tag in the hundreds  _ had _ to be thrown out, and unfortunately for the pair, all of those choices were “safe, confidential, and risk-free” abortions.

Feeling the anger slowly ebb away, Baekhyun found himself slumped over the table, breathing laboured. With each and every exhale, Baekhyun felt his anger melt away, which was something that he would have loved to avoid for that meant that there was now space, there was now room for  _ other _ emotions.

Emotions he would much rather not feel.

They creeped up on him slowly, twining and curling about his limbs like a vise and blossoming in his chest like a balloon; their grip tight and hold suffocating;  _ trapping. _ The fact that Baekhyun knew and understood that he was now on his ninth week, almost two-thirds of the way through his first trimester, hadn’t helped at all. In fact, it only resulted in the vines twisting even tighter, and the suffocation even more unrelenting, unforgiving.

_ “The only time during which you should be the most worried is in the first half of your first trimester, A.K.A. weeks 3 to 7. That’s when miscarriage rates are the highest; between fifty and seventy-five percent. However, you can relax after that, because the rate of miscarriage in the second half is actually now much,  _ much _ lower; just between two and four percent.” _

It was said in so many words, the statement that Baekhyun heard. Dr. Kim had been kind about it, extremely detailed and informative, and even though it was only expected of her to be such, Baekhyun couldn’t help but be grateful. After all, that had been a lot of statistics, even though it had all been rather unnecessary for the only conclusion he had deduced after it all.

_ If you don’t get rid of it by the 7th week— _

—  _ it’s  _ staying.

… and Baekhyun—

“— I can’t keep it, Dae…”

—  _ Baekhyun can’t afford that. _

…

…

…

“...  _ I can’t keep it.” _

 

* * *

 

_ “... It’s going to be difficult, Baekhyun. It’s going to be difficult to get rid of it, now that medical abortion is out of the picture—” _

_ “I  _ don’t _ care, Dae!” a heated glare, a balling of fists. _

_ “Exercise, pineapples, papayas— I need to at least  _ try,  _ okay?!” _

_ Harsh breathing, jaws clenching, chest heaving. _

_ “I— I  _ have _ to try, at the very least, alright?” _

_ Silence; interrupted only by calming inhales and shaky swallows. _

_ “I— _

_ “... I have my whole entire  _ life _ ahead of me, Dae… _

_ “... I’ve got  _ dreams.”

_ … a swallow, muted and quiet. _

_ “... Dreams that I don’t want to fuck up because of a  _ mistake."

 

* * *

 

**Week 12**

A huff was the first thing that greeted Jongdae, followed soon after by the loud rustling of paper. Raising one eyebrow, Jongdae let his foot close the door behind him as he kept his gaze up and forwards. He watched on as Baekhyun riffled through a notebook, and based on the thick leather binding it, Jongdae instantly recognised it to be The™ student council’s notebook.

Being labelled and renowned as the No. 1 Best Friend™ of the student council president himself, Jongdae has acknowledged that that position comes with its own list of benefits, all of which Jongdae has long ago come to terms with, and also has every intention to fully and thoroughly exploit.

… nevermind the fact that most, if not all of them were self-proclaimed, but that is just a minor fact that is negligible in the bigger picture.

Nevertheless, Jongdae still does have benefits being the, essentially, right-hand man to the president himself, and one of them included not only getting valuable insight into the inner workings of the school, but also into some of the school’s more private and sometimes even  _ confidential _ information.

All of which was always,  _ always, _ dutifully noted down in that thick, brown, and  _ heavy _ notebook, and why, by none other than the president himself.

Which was why Jongdae hadn't been too surprised when he registered how Baekhyun had been pouring over The™ notebook. He knows what the timeline of the school events is and has figured out that Baekhyun was most definitely over them all, but Jongdae could also tell that the most pressing event was midterms. 

Midterms that were starting in  _ a week. _

Clicking his tongue, Jongdae strode over to the table right as he slid his backpack off of his shoulder, unceremoniously dumping it right on the wood. However, the fact that the sound of thick textbooks hitting the desk and the subsequent rattle of the table hadn't done much to startle the other was more than enough of a red flag to Jongdae.

“... You aren’t going to progress much if all you ever do is glare at dead pieces of wood, y’know,” he drawled, lazily walking over to where Baekhyun was seated. His best friend hadn't even casted him a glance, Jongdae only managing to get Baekhyun’s jaw to unhinge just a little bit more. Baekhyun had then poked his tongue into one cheek. It wasn’t much of a reaction— wasn’t much of  _ Baekhyun’s _ usual reaction, but it was still one nonetheless.

Still worrisome, but better than he had expected.

Sighing, Jongdae pulled out the chair two seats away from the other, before plopping right down onto it and assuming the classic Dad™ pose; thighs spread and feet firmly planted on the ground, elbows hooked over his knees with his wrist laying slack in between his legs. 

It was a position that Jongdae would always get in whenever he was about to start lecturing,  and, for  _ Baekhyun _ to have been the one of the receiving end of it, that truly signified just how royally he fucked up.

… and he was absolutely, positively, completely, 100%-ly,  _ not _ going to subject himself to that.

… not to the same lecture— not again.

Which was why Baekhyun had instantly slammed the notebook shut, the gruff statement of “I already know  _ exactly _ what it is you’re going to say, Jongdae, so kindly stick it, thank you very much” leaving his lips before he could even process it. Baekhyun was now leaning against the backrest, arms crossed over his chest and eyes glaring holes at everything else in the room, upset,  _ angry. _ Jongdae had only kept mum; lips pulling into a tight line after a resigned sigh left his lips. Baekhyun’s anger hadn't affected him much, if at all, and Jongdae could only attribute it to how this same exact situation had happened before. It was the experience that he had under his belt that allowed him to be so unfazed this time around.

The first time around, Baekhyun’s anger had caught him completely off guard, Jongdae even reeling back slightly in shock right as Baekhyun had outright  _ screamed _ his words at his face, exploding. He had gone absolutely red; cheeks flushed and chest heaving as his entire frame stiffened, towering over where Jongdae was seated, the scene taking place  _ exactly _ where they were at right now; the student council room.

Jongdae could recall just how livid the other had been, for it was a level of anger that he had never seen Baekhyun carry before. Yet Jongdae couldn’t find it in himself to be upset  _ at _ Baekhyun— his upset at that time had been due to his shock, the explosion of sheer anger at him not being something he had expected, but it was never at Baekhyun’s anger itself.

It wasn’t unfounded anyway, Baekhyun’s anger that is. Considering what exactly Jongdae had said to rouse it, he knew that he crossed a line, and Jongdae had concluded that he pretty much deserved it. After all, he knew damn well just how much and how hard Baekhyun had been trying to get rid of the baby, so for him having to suggest that  _ “hey, maybe this is a sign, y’know? That this baby is meant to live”, _ it was bound to set the other off.

Now of course Jongdae hadn't said that statement just purely out of the blue, of course not. He had seen first-hand just how tirelessly Baekhyun was working to get rid of the labelled  _ parasite; _ running a round around the school’s track field at least once during lunch time, eating all sorts of pregnancy-prohibited foods, and even going so far as to massage his lower abdomen sometimes; palms laying flat against his tummy before gently pushing downwards—  _ massaging the baby out. _

… but despite all of that— despite all of his efforts, as relentless and as exhaustive as they were, Baekhyun was  _ still _ very much pregnant, and as such was  _ still _ very much stressed over his state of pregnancy. Combine that with the fact that midterms were just around the corner, the stress levels that Baekhyun was currently experiencing were not just worrisome, but downright frightening.

… and it was for that very reason, it was that very acknowledgement that had given Jongdae the courage to voice his thoughts just a week ago. Those words had been tumbling about in his mind ever since Baekhyun had started his “home-abortion” practices, but it was the sight of a panda-eyed, red-rimmed and almost  _ fragile _ Baekhyun that truly let him voice it all out.

Jongdae might be an insufferable prick of a best friend sometimes, but he’s still fundamentally human, a  _ person. _

A person who cares, and a person who loves their best friend.

(No homo though, just to be clear. Jongdae’s as straight as they can come; fantasising about tits and pussies he,  _ realistically, _ doesn’t ever have the chance of getting.)

Which was why Jongdae  _ had _ to say what he had said, because the constant worrying and stressing over the kid that was seemingly  _ adamant _ on staying was eating Baekhyun up from the inside, and it only got worse with each passing day. Baekhyun was almost disintegrating; getting smaller and smaller and shoulders getting more and more slumped, the worry resulting in bitten fingernails and ansty knee jerks. The confidence and suave that had once been so characteristic, so interlaced in Baekhyun’s entire being was slowly ebbing away—  _ Baekhyun was losing himself, _ and all because of a stupid fucking parasite that didn’t want to go away.

Jongdae had been desperate at that time, not wanting to lose his best friend, and considering how it was the baby that had been the root cause of Baekhyun’s stress, Jongdae had thought that it would have only been best for Baekhyun to accept the kid. After all of his prolonged attempts at trying to get rid of it, the baby had absolutely refused to leave, and Jongdae had a feeling that it  _ wouldn’t _ leave either.

_ ‘So why fight it?’ _ had been his argument, thinking that it was time for Baekhyun to accept the reality for what it was; that Baekhyun just wouldn’t be able to get rid of the baby, and it was going to live. It seemed like a fair choice to make too, accepting the kid and accepting the fact that he was going to be a father, that is. 

… and from Jongdae’s perspective, it had seemed like the  _ only _ possible choice.

Which was why Jongdae had absolutely no qualms about sharing his take on the situation, the sight of a fatigued, exhausted Baekhyun being the last straw, and Jongdae had thought that Baekhyun would have caved too. After having had tried and failed multiple times, and with how the chances of miscarriage were now slim to none, Baekhyun must have been beaten down, right? Baekhyun must have been thinking the same things too, mustn’t he? The same exact thoughts of  _ “Well, it’s been so long and it still hasn’t left no matter how hard I’ve tried, so this must mean that it’s meant to live, isn’t it?” _ must have at least crossed Baekhyun’s own mind  _ once, _ right?

_ Wrong. _

Baekhyun’s initial reaction to Jongdae’s statement had the latter thinking that he had absolutely never entertained the possibility that the kid would make it through the first trimester, much less full-term. The manner in which Baekhyun had went absolutely  _ bat-shit insane _ had Jongdae jumping, Baekhyun’s yells of  _ “No!”s _ and  _ “Are you fucking  _ insane?!”s shocking the former out of his skin.

… but it had been the silence that followed right after, deafening in its finality and desperation that had Jongdae believing otherwise. The contrast between the raging Baekhyun and the Baekhyun after had been so stark; going from daunting, rash, and authoritative to one so hushed, quiet,  _ muted, _ Jongdae had figured that there was more to Baekhyun’s perception than pure anger and  _ “I don’t want this kid”s. _

He hadn't even had to wait long before he was proven right either, Jongdae simply needing to sit there and not move a muscle before Baekhyun had started to speak. The guilt at exploding right in his friend’s face must have contributed to how quickly he had unravelled too, the slight tinting of peach on his cheeks and the way in which he couldn’t bring himself to meet Jongdae’s eyes a giveaway for his embarrassment.

He had started off small, voice nothing above a whisper, scratchy and abused in its thorough butchering just moments prior, and the arguments that soon followed were nothing but ones that they’ve already established before. It’s of course not to say that Jongdae didn’t find them worthy or valid, for they were more than so. It was true that Baekhyun  _ does _ have his whole entire life ahead of him, and how he has his own goals and dreams that he wants to achieve and accomplish, and how his current financial situation wouldn’t be the optimum one for raising a kid.

All of his concerns were valid, all of his  _ reasonings _ were valid, and Jongdae couldn’t find it in himself to refute them in anyway whatsoever.

However, it was the words that were uttered  _ after, _ much  _ much _ later, the syllables spilling into the dead quiet of the room and shattering the silence with the heavy weight packed behind them that truly left Baekhyun vulnerable, that truly left him  _ exposed. _

… just as he was now.

“... I won’t be able to give it a good life, Dae…” The words were uttered with such conviction; almost as if Baekhyun had long come to terms with what he had taken as fact— that he wouldn’t be able to provide for the child, wouldn’t be able to give it the life that it deserved.

It was a rather humble reason, fundamentally, and Jongdae remembered how utterly stupefied he had been, stunned into silence the first time he had heard it. He had always known that there was another reason as to why Baekhyun wasn’t willing to have the child, the way the other would sometimes stare quite distantly at his belly, gaze unfocused yet focused at the same time on the palms he would have splayed over it. His lips would also purse, a thin white line taking the place of plump lips, yet there was not a single ounce of anger or hatred in that action. In fact, Jongdae could confidently say that he managed to pick out resigned apologies, the words although never once voiced out loud, were already screaming from Baekhyun’s expression alone.

… until now, that is.

… and even though it was already his second time hearing it, his second time processing the lesser-known, but also the main reason for  _ why _ Baekhyun wasn’t willing to push through with the pregnancy, Jongdae’s heart still broke just as much, breath stuttered as much, and eyes welled up as much as it did the first time around.

… for he knew how much that hit home for the other.

  
  
  


_ “... Children only deserve the best, Dae…” a wistful smile, a resigned sigh. _

_ “They’re innocent— pure, they don’t know what’s going on around them. _

_ “... and it is only our duty to teach them, isn’t it? To teach, to nurture, to  _ love _ them— the very people we contributed to bringing into this world, don’t you think…?” _

_ Silence, comforting. Words, settling. _

_ A huff, “... each and every child deserves that, at the very least. _

_ “A doting mother, a caring father, and a loving household.” _

_ A pause, stifling. Heavy. _

_ “... and if a child wouldn’t be given, wouldn’t be guaranteed  _ all three _ of these—” _

_ “— then they shouldn’t be brought into this world. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... they don’t deserve that— they deserve  _ better _ than that.” _

  
  
  


Blinking his eyes dry, Jongdae only glanced away. Baekhyun’s statement had been more than enough for him to understand the fact that he hadn't had to say anything more; Baekhyun was resolute in his decision, and his feelings about the matter were final.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t want the baby.

… and Baekhyun would do everything he could, everything he  _ can, _ to get rid of it.

… because if he can’t give the baby, the  _ child _ the life that it deserved; the wholesome family and the stable environment it deserved, then he saw absolutely no point in bringing it into the world.

It was harsh and rather cruel, some would say, but it was realistic and rational, and it was for that very reason that Jongdae couldn’t fault the other for his reasoning.

So it was with a sigh, equally as final and equally as resigned as the expression painted over Baekhyun’s face, did Jongdae push himself off of his chair. Pulling out a snack from the inner pocket of his blazer jacket, Jongdae pushed it over to Baekhyun’s side, knowing just how much his friend would appreciate it after having skipped lunch. Baekhyun had only taken a single bite of his own plate of food during their break, and it had both been just as intentional as it was not. 

Stress fucks around with your appetite, that Jongdae knows, but—

“I know that trying to kill the baby by starvation has proven to be successful in many cases before,” Jongdae began, features softened in empathy. Yet it wasn’t even a beat later did they harden, the incredulity and slight irritation stiffening the curve of his brows and darkening the browns of his eyes as he carried on. “But what’s the use of trying to kill the baby when  _ you’re _ the one who’s going to be dead?”

It was with a final flick of his finger against Baekhyun’s forehead, followed by a whine that went completely ignored, did Jongdae check the time. It has always been rather customary for him to visit Baekhyun here in the student council room on Mondays, when he had his own after-school club activities, and considering how Wednesdays were also the days where the student council had their meetings, it only proved a win-win situation for the both of them.

However, realising that he only had ten more minutes left before his own club activities started, and hence ten more minutes before the student council meeting was expected to commence, Jongdae only clicked his tongue before hurriedly reaching for his backpack. He would usually leave about fifteen minutes before, considering that was the amount of time it took for him to walk all the way across campus to where the his club was hosted at, and also because Jongdae  _ had _ to avoid all the other student council members, most of which, according to Baekhyun, would start arriving around ten minutes before the meeting would start.

So it was with one last final glare at the other, as well as a pointed look at the snack he left on the table, did Jongdae hooked his backpack over his shoulder, striding towards the door.

“Make sure you eat that, okay?” Jongdae called as he pulled the handle of the door open, the heavy weight of the wood echoing in the groan of the hinges. He still had his gaze focused on Baekhyun, but when he realised that his best friend had only rolled his eyes, of which were now focused back on The™ notebook again, Jongdae only curled his lips up in indignation. 

“I spent good money on that, you dumb twat, so make sure you ea—  _ oof—  _ Hey! What where you’re going, assho—…”

…

…

…

“...  _ Oh.” _

…

…

…

_ “... Park Chanyeol…” _


	4. Chapter 4

_ “Don’t get rid of it.” Stern, resolute. _

_ A scoff, a folding of arms, before an indignant,  _ “I’m _ the one carrying, so  _ I _ get to decide—” _

_ “— But I’m the father  _ too, _ Baekhyun! _

_ “That baby— this  _ child, _ is mine too!” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … Silence. _

_ … before a sigh, rushed and huffed. _

_ “... Keep it. _

_ “... Keep the baby.” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 13**

“Hyung…?” came the call, quiet in the serene silence of the morning, yet blaring in the trepidation intricately laced in the lone syllable. It was soon followed by the clinking of metal, Baekhyun needing to set aside his spoon before clasping his hands together, squeezing them in an effort to quell the trembles wrecking through his fingers; trembles that he couldn’t help.

It was only fear,  _ anxious _ fear that were fuelling his actions, and it wasn’t one that was sudden and rushed, but rather prolonged and built up over the course of days. He had been preparing himself, bracing himself for this very day for nearly a week now, and it was the realisation that he was finally going to confront the situation that did it.

However, Baekhyun hadn't been given much more time to continue dwelling in his own thoughts, for Baekbeom had responded with a warm hum right then. The older was still perched over the sink, gloved hands wrist-deep in suds and soapy water as he continued scrubbing away at the pan. His motions, his movements were all so routine, so  _ habitual, _ and it came as a shocker to Baekhyun for that only further proved how much more different their lives were going to be from here on out.

Soon enough, frying pans with egg remains wouldn’t be the only ones soaked in soapy dish water— little bottles would be too. Soon enough, their little dining table wouldn’t only hold clean and pristine white ceramic and glass, but an array of colorful plastic too. Soon enough, the lone fifth chair; an extra one that neither brothers bothered to put back into their little storage room, would soon have to be shoved back into the unit— they had to make space for a high chair, after all.

… and it was all these little details, realisations about how their living space was going to change, how it  _ had _ to change in order to accomodate an infant; they would need to buy a crib, will need to set aside a cupboard and a section of one of their rooms, any place somewhere in the apartment for all of the baby necessities— diapers, formula, baby clothes, toys, milk bottles,  _ everything— _

“— Pumpkin?” Baekbeom’s voice rang about the kitchen, the quiet call being so unexpected that it successfully brought a stop to Baekhyun’s train of thought, pulling him out of his reverie. He was startled, Baekhyun jumping a little in his seat as his gaze focused back on his brother, Baekbeom now peeking back over his shoulder as he wiped the last few dishes dry. He could see the classic frown on his brother’s face, the furrow of his eyebrows combined with the slight, and rather unconscious pout were dead giveaways to the older’s confusion.

Baekhyun couldn’t blame him though. After all, Baekbeom must have been calling for his attention for a while now for him to actually take a look back over his shoulder. With it only being the two of them in the apartment, it usually only took one, very rarely two calls to get the other’s attention.

Which was why Baekhyun had gulped, hands coming up from where they were wringing about on his lap to wave off his brother’s confusion. He had thought that it had been sufficient, considering how Baekbeom had turned around once more, but he soon came to realise that it was just his older brother settling away the dish that he was holding completely, before turning back around again and focusing all of his attention on Baekhyun.

Crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter, Baekbeom simply fixed Baekhyun with a stare, a lone eyebrow raised and lips still very much pursed into the same pout it was in moments ago. His expression was different now, and it only had Baekhyun squirming a little in his seat as his gaze flickered back down again, the familiarity in the morphed features running his throat dry.

“... Are you going to finally tell me what’s been bothering you, Baekhyun-ah?” Baekbeom continued, breaking the rather tense silence that enveloped them. The words, although warm with patient comfort, were also rigid in tight impatience, and Baekhyun couldn’t blame his older brother for being antsy for answers when it had been a good five days of tension on Baekhyun’s part.

He knows that he had been quite…  _ off  _ lately, ever since the student council meeting last Wednesday. It was obvious in the manner in which he spoke; voice tighter and tone more muted, heavy in the secrecy. It was obvious in the way he interacted with the older; mind going adrift and in the process pulling himself away from the current situation, focus no longer given to his conversations with Baekbeom. It was obvious in the way he hugged his brother goodnight, in the way he shied away from any hair ruffles; arms wrapped much more loosely and torso pressed not as tightly against the other, not wanting to press his tummy against the other as much as he could.

It was all rather minute, the changes in Baekhyun’s demeanour. Yet considering how all of these changes were showcased to the one and only person he was living with, the one and only person whom he grew up with, who  _ took care _ of him— Baekbeom knowing that he was hiding something hence didn’t come as a surprise to Baekhyun.

Swallowing, Baekhyun only continued to gaze down at his fingers, watching them fiddle and fidget about on his lap as silence enveloped the pair once again. He could feel the rising panic brewing right underneath his skin, expressed in beads of perspiration and dried lips, for it didn’t take Baekhyun even a _second_ to realise that he absolutely, definitely, certainly, unquestionably, and undoubtedly, _cannot_ _tell Baekbeom._

… at least…

… not when he was  _ alone. _

There was no telling just how Baekbeom would react, and even much less the telling of  _ how well _ he would take the news. It wasn’t every day that an older brother would be informed that his legal ward was expecting, and that he can expect to be greeted with a niece (or nephew) in just about six months. On top of that, the underlying understanding that  _ he _ would be the one who would need to provide for his nibling, seeing as how their carrier wouldn’t be able to— would be put on the table as well.

… and they were already just barely getting it by as it is.

So as much as Baekbeom loves his younger brother, as much as Baekhyun knows how much Baekbeom loves him, he doesn’t think that he’d be able to do it; doesn’t think that he’d be able to drop a bomb as colossal as that on him. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach through their entire discussion afterwards, the emotional and financial baggage of a  _ baby _ too daunting of a topic to tackle at barely 7:15am on a weekday morning,  _ alone. _

Which was why it was with a deep inhale and a resolute nod that Baekhyun finally glanced back up, eyes steely and shoulders squared, before breathing out a firm, “I’ll tell you next Friday.

“... When my midterms end.”

…  _ When Chanyeol can come with me. _

…  _ When we can tell you. _

_ … When I’m not  _ alone.

 

* * *

 

_ “We can’t bring it into the world, Chanyeol—” _

_ “We can, and we  _ will—”

_ “We  _ can’t! _ Chanyeol we  _ can’t!”

_ Panting, heaving, and misting; a buildup of tension and tears. _

_ “... We can’t provide for it, Chanyeol… A baby is so much commitment; time, effort, love,  _ support—”

_ “— We can support the baby, Byun.” _

_ A firm gaze, determined, unrelenting.  _ Resolute.

_ “I’ve got the funds, I’ve got the effort, I’ve got the love, I’ve got the time—” _

_ “What  _ time?!  _ What time do you even  _ mean, _ Chanyeol?!” Stuttered breaths, stricken eyes. “We’re seniors, president and vice president of Seoul Science High School’s student council— so what  _ time _ do we even have?!” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … Silence. _

_ … before a quiet sob, heavy and weighted; laced with the secrecy of unspoken history. _

_ “... A baby isn’t a  _ toy, _ Chanyeol… It’s not something that we can— that we can  _ refund—”

_ “I  _ know _ that, Byun.” A frown, brows furrowed in silent fury, and lips pursed in quiet hurt; pride damaged. “I  _ know _ that a baby is a commitment; a lifelong one at that. I know what it entails, I know what it’s going to cost— physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially. _

_ “... So don’t take me for an absolute  _ fool.”

_ A hitching of breath, the staining of cheeks; ashamed. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... We both created this, we both created  _ it.

_ “... So we both have parts to play— we both are responsible, equally so.” _

_ A sigh, huffed but resigned. _

_ “... and I’m the one who put you in this mess,” pausing, breathing, and bracing, “... it’s only fair that I help you through it. _

_ “... This is an innocent life, Baekhyun. One that we both created, one that we both made. _

_ “... and I’ll be right here, right beside you, helping you and being with you, taking care of it with you.” _

_ Stepping closer, breaths mingling, voices dropping. _

_ “... So let’s keep it, alright? _

_ “... Let’s keep the baby.” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 15**

Silence was the only thing that enveloped them, the quiet never having sounded as deafening as it did then. It was only heightened, intensified by the rising tension; the settling in of the reality, of what they were finally going to admit, to  _ commit _ to. 

This, of course, didn’t bode well for either men, and it showed itself in much different ways; Baekhyun had his chin pointed downwards, digging into his chest as he hooked his teeth behind his bottom lip, pristine canines digging into the flesh. His eyes were directed onto his fingers, fiddling and fidgeting about in his lap— a mirror of the same exact position they were in just two weeks ago.

… yet as obvious that his gaze was on his fingers, it was even more so the  _ lack  _ of focus that he had on them.

It was clear that his mind was elsewhere, Baekhyun once again immersing himself in his own thoughts to the point where he was detached from reality. Chanyeol might not have had the clearest view of the other, but he has had his own share of an anxious, panicky, and fearful Baekhyun, which was why it was with utmost confidence did Chanyeol reach over his own palm to rest it on the other’s shoulder.

An attempt at comfort.

Baekhyun’s own panic and fear for what they were about to face was much more than his own, and it was justified. The situation was daunting, even when just stated with no underlying context; “Teen high school fuckbuddies finally tell the carrier’s lone guardian the news”, and when context was finally taken into consideration, the situation only became a hundred times worse. It was this reasoning that prompted Chanyeol to set aside his own panic and his own fear in order to comfort the other. 

Chanyeol might not have truly understood the magnitude of their situation, but he at the very least knew about it. He knew just what was at stake right then, knew the possibilities that lay before them as soon as they were to tell Baekbeom that not only were they pregnant, but that they were choosing to keep the baby. He knew that, at that point, they were gambling.

They were gambling with not only their own futures and stability, but that of the baby’s as well. They were gambling  _ Baekhyun’s _ own security; the risk of him not garnering his brother’s support, the possible reality that the two of them would have to go through the pregnancy as  _ just _ the two of them having been a bitter pill to swallow.

… and they were gambling Baekhyun’s own relationship, Baekhyun’s own love  _ from _ his brother.

… the only family member, the only  _ one person _ that he had left.

… which was why Chanyeol had quickly intervened, cupping the other’s shoulder in his own palm before giving it a faint squeeze; comforting. Baekhyun might have kept mum all throughout the entire car ride back to the apartment complex, but his expression and silence in itself spoke volumes about not only just how he was feeling, but of the thoughts that were running through his head as well.

The hesitation, the fear, the doubts— all of it in vast amounts, and all of it obvious, yet all of it silenced.

So it was with a breath that Chanyeol squeezed the other’s shoulder, warm palm kneading the tensed flesh as he uttered out a single statement and instantly feeling the other deflate; shoulders dropping and chest expanding with a deep,  _ deep _ inhale.

Baekhyun had only glanced back up, chin barely lifting before his own eyes hesitantly met Chanyeol’s own. Yet the latter didn’t pay that any heed, focus instead directed at just how much more collected, much more calm,  _ reassured _ the other was in not only his stature, but in the very depths of his eyes as well; eyes that had once been so dim and so dull,  _ frightened. _

For they were now bright,  _ burning, _ and it was then and then only did Chanyeol truly realise, truly understood the weight of his own words.

… but he couldn’t dwell on it for longer, wasn’t even given the opportunity to, for Baekhyun had only quirked the corners of his lips up, a smile. It was faint, the action so minute that Chanyeol would have ghosted over it if he had been anywhere else, but it was now only the two of them, in a space so confined and with air so quiet, so tense with anxiety and fear that it was  _ palpable— _

—… and their focus only directed, only given to the other.

Wholly and completely.

… and it was with a splay of his own palm over his lower abdomen, touch gentle and smoothing over the little bump, did Baekhyun mumble out his own “... Thank you.”

… It was that response alone, those two simple words said in response, that made Chanyeol finally  _ understand _ the gravity of the situation they were in, that made him finally understand just the weight of their predicament, the seemingly insurmountable fear and anxiety wreaking havoc all across Baekhyun.

For those words were said so genuinely, so purely, the sigh that they were laced in so relieved and reassured, that Chanyeol had had to take a moment to pause and breathe. It was a verbal manifestation of the severity of the situation, of  _ Baekhyun’s _ situation, the oral embodiment of the relief that the other was feeling at the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

The weight of  _ being alone _ in the pregnancy.

The weight of having to raise the baby alone, of having to provide for it alone, of having to care for it alone— of having to be  _ alone. _

… and Chanyeol might not have known Baekhyun long, might not have known him as deeply as so many others, but he knew enough.

He  _ now _ knew enough, and  _ now _ knew just how hearing the phrase  _ “I’ll be right there with you” _ would mean, and  _ means _ to the other.

…

…

…

“... I told you, didn’t I?

“... I’ll be  _ right here, _ beside you.”

 

* * *

 

_ “ _ _ I’m scared, Chanyeol… _

_ “I’m so scared— I just— If we were to bring it into this world then they only deserve the very best and I don’t think I can—” _

_ “— We can.” _

_ … Silence. Tension, determination, and reassurance. _

_ “...  _ We _ can.” _

“We’ll _ give it the very best,  _ we’ll _ take care of it the best,  _ we’ll _ give it everything it needs.” _

_ A clasping of a shoulder, a splaying of a palm against stretched skin. _

_ “... We’re in this together, Baekhyun.” _

_ “... We’re in this  _ together.”

 

* * *

 

It had gone much better than expected, the outcome being something that Baekhyun had thought was only a pipe dream.

Here he was, settled down on the couch, frame frozen and breathing stuttered. His breathing was the only thing that he could focus on right then, needing something to focus on, to  _ ground _ him as he took a moment to process just what had transpired. The momentary reprieve from the whole entire situation was something that Baekhyun needed, for Baekhyun hadn’t expected for things to turn out like this.

For things to turn out this  _ well. _

… For here he was, for here  _ they were, _ all cooped up in their tiny living room; Baekhyun seated and the other two standing.

The other two  _ hugging. _

“... Take care of him, Chanyeol-ah.”

“... Take care of  _ them.” _

… and it was those words, uttered with so much certainty, with so much  _ faith _ in the person to whom they were directed at, that had Baekhyun’s own breath hitching. His brother’s words were so genuine, so assured with hope and trust that Baekhyun couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed, for it all screamed of Baekbeom’s acceptance of the news— of the baby, of Chanyeol, of  _ Baekhyun,  _ something that he thought was impossible.

… but Baekhyun thinks that he can only chalk that all up to having Chanyeol there, for having been right there with him throughout the entire ordeal, for he knew that it wouldn’t have been successful— that  _ he _ wouldn’t be successful otherwise.

Baekhyun couldn’t help but recall back to how they were just mere moments ago; both high school students seated on the same couch that he was on, perpendicular to where Baekbeom was perched on the armchair. They were steady in their dropping of the news, watching with focused eyes and bated breath as Baekbeom processed it all; their heartbeats fluctuating in tandem with the play of emotions across Baekbeom’s face.

They watched as his gaze morphed from incredulity to surprise, from shocked to thoughtful, from morphed into worry and panic. Both students had braced themselves as soon as Baekbeom had fixed them with blown eyes; the worry swimming in his veins displaying itself all across his own features. However the concern had all been for the questions that Baekhyun had raised before, all of which Chanyeol had the answers for.

Baekhyun doesn’t know how Chanyeol does it, couldn’t possibly fathom how the other had the perfect answer for each and every scenario that Baekhyun brought up, as well as for those that Baekbeom did— the ones that Baekhyun had missed. Questions and concerns revolving around their school and their reputations sprung up, as well as those including Chanyeol’s  _ own _ family’s reaction to the news— all of which the other had answers for, shot and fired with such poise and elegance that had both brothers comforted, that had both brothers reassured that  _ everything was going to turn out okay. _

… but it was the answer to the last question that had Baekhyun reeling a tad, a feeling of uncertainty bubbling just briefly amidst the cloud of reassurance and comfort.

_ “My family will be okay, Hyung,”  _ Chanyeol had said, the words stated with so much confidence that it was almost unreal, especially considering the context that they were said in. He had said it with so much certainty and conviction that Baekhyun couldn’t find it in himself to refute, drawn to believe and  _ trust _ the other and his words.

The manner in which he had gazed at both brothers hadn’t helped too, eyes so warm and so assured, smile softened and nod firm, that both Baekhyun and Baekbeom just simply had to believe the other. Yet Baekhyun couldn’t help the way a lump had started to form in his throat, knotting and scratching against his walls.

It was something that he couldn’t explain; either the words that were used, or the smooth and utmost confidence— brushing it off almost— that they were said in that seemed…  _ off. _ The uneasiness was creeping up and was manifesting itself as a weight in his stomach, and Baekhyun couldn’t help, but for a fleeting moment, think to himself—

_ “... They’ll be absolutely fine.” _

…

…

…

…  _ Just what are you hiding from me, Chanyeol…? _


	5. Chapter 5

_ “What about your family, Chanyeol? I— I only have Hyung to worry about, but you—” _

_ “— Don’t worry about them, Baekhyun.” Stern, solid,  _ final.

_ “... Focus on your family. You don’t have to trouble yourself with mine.” _

_ An exhale, before gazes turned back onto the road. _

_ “... Just focus on the baby.”  _

 

* * *

 

**Week 16**

“Okay,” Dr. Kim began, hands reaching out for all of the papers scattered about her desk. They were all nothing but a series of paragraphs and highlighted keywords, all of which Baekhyun didn’t understand, which was why Baekhyun could only wait anxiously for Dr. Kim to decode all of them.

She cleared a throat right as soon as she gathered the papers, eyes flickering over the sheets until she was satisfied. When she glanced back up again, eyes peeking over the papers to meet with widely blown ones, she could only huff a laugh.

The other two in the room shared a glance, both equally blown eyes meeting the other’s own before fleeting back over to the doctor’s. It was clear that the two were nervous; both simultaneously biting on their bottom lip, teeth digging, abusing the flesh as they stared at her, gaze unwavering.

It was a comical sight, that Dr. Kim had to admit, and the amusement was only heightened due to how  _ “The both of you have absolutely nothing to worry about, the baby is completely fine.” _

With twin sighs of relief leaving both pairs of lips, both Chanyeol’s and Baekhyun’s frames instantly deflated; shoulders slumping and tension easing. The relief hadn’t only affected the pair of high schoolers, but the office as a whole; Dr. Kim realising that it was now easier to breathe, the air not as thick nor as stale as it had been mere moments ago.

She hadn’t pointed it out of course, couldn’t find it in herself to tease the expecting couple when it was obvious just how on edge they were. She would have felt rather mean too, considering just what exactly the type of situation the two were in, which was why she could understand their anxiety.

They were already putting quite a bit on the line in order to keep the baby, so if it turns out that they were risking everything, maybe even already having had to give up some things already, for  _ naught— _

It would be entirely too devastating.

It didn’t help that they were already well past the point for abortion either, which only further justified the intensity of fear and worry that the pair were overcome with, since they stepped into her office an hour ago. However, thankfully that it was not for naught, for the baby was doing very well and was very healthy, all of the information which she then relayed to the pair.

Baekhyun simply nodded along, breathing easy as he took in every word that Dr. Kim was saying. She had proceeded to go on into the vitals of the baby and himself, stating in detailed yet layman terms just what the papers  meant.

_ “The baby is healthy, and so are you, Baekhyun-sshi.” _

_ “Your blood levels are fine, but it might be due to the stress that you’ve been facing recently— you’ve just had your midterms, yes?— that’s why it is quite deficit in some areas. However, this isn’t a cause for concern because I can give you some prenatal vitamins; take them religiously, once a day every morning, alright?” _

_ “Make sure to rest more in the upcoming weeks, and to eat more as well.” _

She had given Baekhyun a pointed gaze right then, a silent, and hinted warning for him to abide by whatever she had said. There had been a significant weight to her gaze, and it only clued him in on the fact that there might be some things that Dr. Kim hadn’t said out loud.

He knows that Dr. Kim mustn’t have stated them purely due to compassion, and he knows that it mustn’t have been anything too severe either. After all, it was unethical to withhold critical information from a patient, so even if Dr. Kim were to be holding anything back, Baekhyun knows that should he abide by her rules and follow her agenda, he would be more than fine the next visit around. 

So it was with a tiny nod that Baekhyun mumbled his affirmative, relaying his silent promise to the doctor to abide by whatever she had said. His reaction had apparently been enough, for Dr. Kim’s stern gaze instantly melted away, replaced by the much softer, much more familiar warm one. Her features lit up; a pleasant smile stretching across her lips and laugh lines becoming more prominent.

With the setting now more mellow, Dr. Kim went on to explain about what the pair could expect to happen in the next couple of weeks, at least right until their next prenatal visit.

Increased appetite and food cravings were the ones that the pair had expected, but it was the detailing of how  _ “headaches will start to come, although they would be occasional. Faintness and dizziness will also be more common, but these can be avoided if you stay hydrated— two and a half litres of water every day, without fail— and heartburn and indigestion would also start to be more common. Backaches as well, so make sure that you have a supportive chair at home, and make sure to bring a cushion with you to school so that you can keep your posture in place” _ that threw them off.

It was quite a substantial bit of information, all of which was rather foreign to both students. Which was why it took them a couple of moments to process it all. 

However, he hadn’t expected them to start out so early; he was just barely past the midpoint of the second trimester, barely halfway through the pregnancy as a whole. So couple that with the series of aches and pains he was expected to go through in the next couple of weeks— of course Baekhyun needed a moment to let all the information settle, as well as a moment longer to accept it all.

He wasn’t given the chance to do so though, for Chanyeol had been quick to break the silence by bringing up his owb series of questions. He had been rather silent all throughout Dr. Kim’s explanation earlier, absorbing all the new information with a lot more ease as compared to Baekhyun. It made sense though. After all, Chanyeol wasn’t the one going through the pregnancy directly, it only made sense how he remained still pretty level-headed after.

Which was why, as soon as Baekhyun had heard just exactly the type of questions that Chanyeol had raised, ones that revolves around the baby personally, he couldn’t help how he nodded along, just as eager to find out the answers to them as Chanyeol was.

Dr. Kim had taken all of his questions in stride; answering each and every pressing concern with a calculated, sufficiently detailed answer of her own.

 

“Is the baby going to come out okay?”

“Yes, the baby will come out perfectly fine. They are growing at a healthy rate, and if Baekhyun does what I tell him to do, it will only grow even healthier. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

 

“What are the chances of a miscarriage now, at where we are at in the pregnancy, and in the near future?”

“The chances of a miscarriage happening is actually very low; less than one percent, and it only gets lower as the weeks progress. The chances would be even lower if the carrier, that means you, Baekhyun-sshi, strictly follows all the rules and regulations I have set out for you. So there is no need for worry over that either, Chanyeol-sshi.” 

 

“Is it truly safe to continue the pregnancy for the baby?”

“Yes, it is. There are no complications so far, and should the pregnancy pan out as I expect, there won’t be any in the future, be it near or far. The baby is healthy, and so is Baekhyun-sshi, so it is very much safe for the pregnancy to continue.”

 

It seemed almost like a round of rapidfire, Chanyeol shooting any and every possible concern that an expecting parent would have for their baby, and the ease and confidence with which Dr. Kim tackled every single one only left Baekhyun stunned. 

Though the one that really took the cake, however, had been how their little question-and-answer discussion had been wrapped up; Chanyeol shaking his head before smiling his thanks, a response to Dr. Kim’s own pleasant utter of, “any more questions?”. 

It was obvious that he had gotten all of the answers that he needed, the way he had raised his chest out speaking more than enough for how pleased and satisfied with the answers he was. His whole entire demeanour had changed too, Chanyeol seemingly excuding this specific aura; one of reassured confidence that seemed to settle in a little more deeply, a little more firmly in the very root of his being.

… and it was only further emphasised, further brought to light, when Dr. Kim had noted how “it’s honestly quite surprisingly just how healthy the baby is, how the both of you made it through the most troublesome parts of the pregnancy without so much as a prenatal visit.

“It must be a  _ miracle.” _

… it must have been in the way Chanyeol had smiled, the corners of his lips curling up a tad too much around the edges as he flashed the doctor a smile.  Or it must have been the way his eyes had dimmed, hazed over just momentarily, the shadow over the brown so fleeting that Baekhyun had thought he had imagined it— but the feeling of unease, the very same one from a week ago, had started to make itself apparent again; settling in his stomach and drying his throat.

“... It must have been a miracle then, Dr. Kim.”

“...  _ and it is one that I am thankful for.” _

…

…

…

…  _ Just what are you hiding from me…? _

 

* * *

 

_ “... You told me you never wanted children.” _

_ A hum, before a furrow. Lips pursed, confused. _

_ “When did I say that?” _

_ “Just last year, right before the year break.” _

_ A sigh, before a look. Features relaxed, open. _

_ “... You told me that you wouldn’t want to keep the baby, would prefer to get rid of it if we were to ever get pregnant someway, somehow. You used your arguments of how we would be seniors, how we wouldn’t be able to afford it; the same arguments as mine all those weeks back. _

_ “... and yet now…” a downcasting of eyes, a nibbling of a bottom lip, “... yet here we are.” _

_ Throwing gazes, weighted in meaning, heavy in desperation. _

Answers.

The need for answers.

_ “... I changed, Baekhyun.” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … Silence, before a meeting of eyes, a warming of gazes. _

_ Exhausted? Yes. Self-assured? Yes. Lying? No. _

_ “... I changed.” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 17**

“Pumpkin?” Baekbeom called out, the volume heightened in the quiet of the morning. The call had bounced off the walls, ringing quite blaringly down the hallway before barging into Baekhyun’s own room. The concern in the call was quite obvious, and wasn’t unfounded either. It was getting pretty late into the morning, and Baekhyun had still yet to come out of his room, something that wasn’t common.

A sentiment that he shared with the only other person in the apartment with him, if the other’s equally as confused and worried expression was anything to go by.

Leading the way down towards his younger brother’s room, Baekbeom could hear faint shuffling as well as frantic, almost panicked little mumbles of,  _ “Where is it, where is it?” _ coming from Baekhyun, and they only grew louder with each step he took. His brother had sounded so anxious, scrambling to find something and it had only left Baekbeom confused, unable to help the question of, “Pumpkin, hey, what’s wrong—”

_ “I can’t find my hoodie, Hyung!” _

— Not having had expected for Baekhyun to completely  _ burst. _

Apparently, the whole entire morning had been quite an ordeal. Starting off with him missing his first two alarms, Baekhyun was already pressed for time as he was, and the fact that it seemed like as though everything only snowballed hadn’t helped his already growing panic.

It had all started right when Baekhyun had stepped in front of the mirror, eyes trailing over the expanse of his frame as his palms settled on the swell at his lower belly. This was a new addition to his morning routine; spending a good couple of minutes truly looking at his body and watching it change and grow— watching and analysing his body— the  _ swell _ in particular.

It was growing, that much Baekhyun could see, and it wasn’t that that surprised him, but rather how well it was growing. According to both Dr. Kim as well as the little chart that she had given him during his last visit, apparently the baby was now about the size of a large onion. Yet when he only tilted his body around, torso nude and hands spread over the stretched skin, Baekhyun couldn’t help but think how ridiculously  _ large _ the onion must have been; scoffing at the utter absurdity of the comparison.

If Baekhyun were to make the comparison himself, he would say that he looked like he was carrying a big ass bag of  _ Lays. _

His stomach was getting obvious, much too obvious, and it was this realisation, all so sudden yet so intense, that had Baekhyun panicking. For it could only mean one thing; his stomach— his  _ pregnancy _ would soon be impossible to hide. The baby would only continue to grow, and his tummy would only continue to get bigger— and soon enough, everyone in school would know.

They hadn’t crossed that bridge yet, thankfully, but they eventually would, and it was this knowledge that had Baekhyun heaving; breaths choppy and eyes watery as his lips curled up behind his teeth, frame shaking as sobs began to claw themselves out of his throat.

Baekhyun knows that Chanyeol had mentioned how they would be able to get away with it, recalls how confident he had been when he stated how even if the school and the Board and the other students found out about the pregnancy, that it was all going to okay— he still couldn’t help the sudden rush of fear from bleeding right into his veins; saturating his blood and locking up his limbs, to the point where all he could do was tremble and heave.

It made it all far too  _ real, _ the fact that he was pregnant. It might seem comical that he was only truly realising this  _ now, _ considering how he had been pregnant for a good seventeen weeks now, but it hadn’t truly settled it right until that moment.

It was the sight of just how large his belly had grown that had made it all…  _ real. _ It was the visual of how— how  _ pregnant _ he looked that made it all real.

The baby was growing, and his belly was growing too.

He was  _ pregnant with a child. _

… and it was that lone statement, those few words, that sparked the sudden pouring, the avalanche of panic; each and every statement that he had held as his argument against the baby, against the pregnancy coming back full force. Phrases and words such as  _ “time” _ and  _ “support” _ and  _ “providing” _ and  _ “money” _ soon enough blurred into one, the letters all blocky and red and  _ loud _ in the silence of the morning that Baekhyun—

“—Hey.”

…  _ Quiet. _

The single call had been cutting, tone quiet in volume but boisterous in its grounding, all of which accentuated by the deep baritone the single syllable had been laced in. The greeting had been stated so firmly, so sternly— slicing through Baekhyun’s own thoughts, halting the wreaking of havoc in his head so suddenly that he had gasped; the cold rush of air pulled into his lungs, as frozen as his frame right then.

Silence befell the room, and the ringing of it soon enough became the only sound that Baekhyun heard; the muted echoes blaring even more loudly than the  _ thump-thump-thumpings _ of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out just exactly whose voice it was, and it shouldn’t have been as surprising to Baekhyun to hear Chanyeol this early in the morning— at least, not anymore.

… but he couldn’t help it.

Even though he should have grown rather immune to the other’s presence in his house, what with Chanyeol having made it his somewhat duty to pick up Baekhyun from school, as well as to drive him back home after classes since four weeks ago, but he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t help but freeze, the shock at hearing Chanyeol, at  _ having _ Chanyeol right there with him right in the middle of a breakdown, the cause of which was something that the both of them agreed on— that the both of them were in  _ together _ for—

“... Breathe, Baekhyun.”

“...  _ Breathe.” _

… and Baekhyun did; head frantically bobbing along to Chanyeol’s words as he blinked the wetness away from his eyes, before focusing his gaze on Chanyeol’s own, matching the other’s. It was something that he needed, a fact that Baekhyun had come to realise quite belatedly. For the way his browns had shone, quite brightly, with his calm and collect had instantly gotten Baekhyun’s own heart to stop racing, his own blood to stop rushing, and his own mind clear.

There had been a certain aura about Chanyeol right then, a certain empathetic understanding that gave Baekhyun an insight,  _ the _ clue that Chanyeol knew.

That Chanyeol knew  _ exactly _ what was going through his mind right then, knew  _ exactly _ how weighted his shoulders were feeling right then, all of which he knew exactly  _ why. _

… for he had placed both of his palms on the bump then, the warmth seeping from his large hands, kissing the stretched skin through the meagre cotton of their school shirt,  _ cupping _ it.

“... I have a hoodie in my car, one that is big enough,” Chanyeol continued on, voice dropping down to a whisper as he stepped closer to the other. The unsaid  _ ‘big enough to cover the bump’ _ had been mutually understood, Baekhyun’s own shoulders dropping down in relief as he sighed, the tension leaving his body at the realisation that  _ the bridge is still a distance away— we can— we will cross it  _ later.

Wrapping his own fingers around the other’s wrists, Baekhyun simply nodded, expressing his thank and gratitude; for— for what specifically Baekhyun did not know— it could have been how Chanyeol knew exactly what he wanted, what he was looking for without him saying anything, or it could be how he had come up to him and had known exactly what he was thinking, and what exactly Baekhyun had wanted to hear, all without him having to say it.

… but all that Baekhyun knew, the one thing that Baekhyun could for certain be thankful for—

“... We’ll get there when we get there, Baekhyun.

“... and we’ll get through it.

…

…

…

“... We’ll get through it together.”

_ —… was that he wasn’t _ alone.

…

…

…

“... Yeah,” a firm nod, relieved and resolute.

_ “... We’ll get through it together.” _


	6. Chapter 6

_ “You shouldn’t be overworking yourself, Baekhyun,” a click of tongue, before a furrow of brows, and a pursing of lips, “we’re in the middle of midterms, yes, but forgoing sleep for the sake of studying? You  _ know _ that isn’t good.” _

_ A scoff, a rolling of eyes, before incessant taps of wooden pencils against paper sheets. _

_ “Are you really telling that to the president of Seoul Science High School’s student council, who is also the top student who is also on a very, very,  _ very _ strict scholarship, Chanyeol?” _

_ A sigh, and a pressing of lips. Calm, a little playful. _

_ “No,” came the drawl, the vowel elongated just a tad teasingly, “I’m telling this to a pregnant carrier. _

_ “... A pregnant carrier who’s carrying  _ my _ child.” _

_ Sputtering of lips and tinting of cheeks, before an indignant, “Shut up and get home, Park!” _

_ Chuckling and the racing towards the door— _

_ “I’ll see you tomorrow, Baekhyun!” _

“Sh! _ Hyung’s asleep!” _

_ “Oh— shit, my bad—” dropping down to whispers, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” _

_ A roll of eyes, a huffing of a sigh; as annoyed as it was playful. _

_ “... See you.” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 18**

The loud, almost uncaring way in which Baekhyun had dumped his bag onto the floor of the apartment instantly had Chanyeol frowning. It had certainly gotten his attention, for after all these weeks of dropping off the other home, he had never once seen Baekhyun act as carelessly as he did then. From his own experience, Chanyeol had always known Baekhyun to be rather neat; cautious and careful with his belongings,  _ responsible. _

He had chalked it up to a force of habit, something that Baekhyun had long come to hone and develop through the years of needing to be independent, of needing to be able to take care of himself as well as the household on days when it was just him in the apartment. The sense of responsibility was only further honed, smoothened and perfected through the years of Baekhyun bearing countless titles and only getting more refined with each accolade he added to his name— at least, that’s what Chanyeol theorises.

There was no way any other…  _ normal _ nineteen year old teenager would be as responsible and independent as a certain Byun Baekhyun, and speaking from even  _ more _ personal experience, it could never be someone who shared the same background as him— Park Chanyeol, that is, and practically the entirety of the student body at Seoul Science High School. Though it wouldn’t be surprising, for all of these kids were brought up only one way— bathed in riches and drowning in wealth, spoilt and pampered and outright  _ childish, _ even through to adulthood.

But it wasn’t quite as bad as one might think, for while they were all in fact spoilt and pampered and indeed childish, they were spoilt in the areas of education, pampered in their rewards, and childish in their competition. 

It was these children, sons of conglomerate owners and daughters of international businesspersons that were given only the absolute best, and nothing but the  _ absolute _ best when it came to their education; enrolled into the best private schools. It was these children that were pampered gorgeously when it came to rewards; talks about receiving the most famed sports cars or gifted the most stunning diamond-encrusted watches all because they topped their classes becoming something that Chanyeol had heard multiple times over, to the point where it was now white noise. 

… and it was for this very reason that these children were so utterly competitive when it came to their academics; the need to not only top their class, but to further top the school— the  _ nation, _ being the sole driving force for all of their late nights and only reason for their lack of sleep. However, their competitiveness was only heightened, further intensified upon the addition of scholars; students who could no way afford the tuition fees for the most esteemed high school in South Korea.

Which was why it was only made much more of a bigger deal, for scholars were few and far between in a school as prestigious as theirs. Moreover, for a student themselves to be granted a scholarship in the first place, one that was all expenses paid and basically a full-ride— it could only mean that they were  _ smart. _

Hence it wasn’t surprising, even expected almost, that the scholars would always, time and time again, top their class, sometimes even their class _ es. _

This had unsurprisingly only fueled even more competition, the rich kids working harder to beat the scholars who had  _ absolutely _ needed to top their class. It was fierce, and it only grew fiercer and fiercer with each exam season, only grew uglier and uglier with each year they progressed in school.

… and considering how it was now the final year, the competition was at its fiercest. 

Yet it wasn’t only that, of course. After all, just which student, who has been given the absolute best in terms of resources and guidance, who has been promised, conditioned to expect that they would be granted a _want_ of theirs should they perform well, should they _beat_ _everyone else—_

… Just which student would be fine, would be alright with sitting down by the side, perfectly okay with someone, someone who has absolutely  _ nothing—  _ who had not been given the same things, the same opportunities and the same chances that they were, exceeding them in results? 

It was messy, and sometimes it was downright  _ ugly, _ that was the only way that Chanyeol would describe the whole situation, could describe the whole culture that was academics in their school. Comments would be passed, sometimes muffled, and sometimes purposefully expressed within vicinity of the addressed party. 

The disdain and beration would be obvious, no matter the words or the tone used; sometimes the statements would be subtle, mild, maybe even borderline polite in their tone and words. Yet it was the underlying insults, laced so intricately and buried so deeply under the multitude of layers; all of which were coated onto the words purely to deceit—  _ “It’s a compliment, darling. Don’t read into it too much.” _

Other times, the statements made would just be blatant insults, the students choosing not to hide their detest for the scholars, detest for how they had once again lost to someone who was, essentially, not on level ground; unequal opportunities, unequal chances, and yet they had lost. It was these comments that were uttered, the students sometimes choosing to raise their voices as they said these comments— these  _ insults, _ that would get to the scholars.

Chanyeol knows. He’s seen it happen before, just as everyone else has. 

He has seen how the scholars, granted an absolute  _ golden _ opportunity; students,  _ children _ coming from all walks of life form all over South Korea, to attend only one of the finest, most established and prestigious schools. Children who were praised, applauded, ones who held pure brains brimming with knowledge and packed with potential—

Chanyeol has seen them  _ break. _

Pushed to tears, the scorn and derision from their more privileged peers buckling down onto them and tearing them apart— the backhanded comments and straightforward insults being nothing short of  _ cut-throat,  _ of  _ merciless.  _ It was unhealthy and sometimes downright toxic, especially when it came down to the time when the students would get back their exam results.

… which was right about then.

They had just received their examination results that day, and the fact that Baekhyun had topped the class, had even topped their  _ cohort _ not having been surprising at all. It had always been the case, ever since Baekhyun had been enrolled into the school, and it has long come to a point where everyone has already long come to expect it. 

Hence why Chanyeol had also long come to expect the comments, the remarks and the insults berating and mocking the president, them being a package deal and coming together with every lecturer’s announcement of,  _ “Of course, the student who scored the highest is none other than Byun Baekhyun!” _

However, as harsh as the comments had gotten, as backhanded as the remarks had gotten, Chanyeol had never seen Baekhyun break down because of them.

Not even once.

No matter how disparaging the other student’s comments had gotten, no matter how outright  _ cruel _ their words have gotten, Chanyeol had never, and he means  _ never, _ seen Baekhyun crumble from it all.

Which was why he was surprised, and quite honestly shocked, at just how  _ off _ the other had been the whole day. After all, the comments were not new; in fact Chanyeol would like to think that Baekhyun has grown fairly used to hearing them; immune, in the very same manner that Chanyeol himself was to flippant comments about Porsche cars and Tiffany bracelets. 

His belief in how nonchalant Baekhyun was about it, how unbothered he was about it all wasn’t unfounded; Baekhyun’s own attitude about the entire situation had been  _ just _ as such. Chanyeol remembers asking Baekhyun all those months ago, the first time he had gotten to truly work closely with the other when they had first joined the council;  _ “Don’t the comments bother you? What they think about you?”, _ and Baekhyun’s response had only been a scrunching of a nose and a little  _ “eh”. _

Yet as curt as his verbal answer had been, Chanyeol could see the indifference the other had in the way he had stood; shoulders lax, arms lazily crossed— his entire demeanor screamed  _ unbothered, _ so who was Chanyeol to think otherwise?

Baekhyun had been nothing but strong, both mentally and emotionally, and his strength spilled into everything else that he did— into everything else that he  _ was. _ It was this sole reason, this lone fact that made Chanyeol feel that he had more than enough reason to believe, to  _ understand _ just why and how Baekhyun had gotten this far. His zealous attitude, headstrong and level-headed, confident and clear-minded— he hadn’t only worked for it all, but he was capable.

_ More _ than capable.

So colour him surprised when he sees the ever so confident, ever so capable, and ever so  _ unbothered _ Byun Baekhyun, head of their student body and top scholar, top  _ student, _ suddenly…  _ crumble, _ on the day that they receive their examination results, something that Chanyeol has never seen— has never expected him to do.

It wasn’t so much of a crumble as it was off, for Baekhyun hadn’t broken down nor acted in the same way as Chanyeol has seen majority of the scholars did. He had simply been quiet, much more than usual, and it showed most obviously in the complete silence of their car ride back to the Byun’s apartment complex. The quietness had enveloped them, the weight of it almost stifling,  _ odd, _ that it almost seemed wrong if Chanyeol were to even breathe.

However as obvious as Baekhyun’s abrupt change in demeanour was, the fact that he hadn’t wanted to talk about it was just as much. His reluctance was clear in the way he had only given curt replies; teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as his fingers fidgeted about his lap, tugging on the hem of the hoodie and the stuffing them in his pockets, pulling the fabric away from his torso. His gaze was directed outside too, eyes drifting nowhere near Chanyeol’s as they hazed over; the dulling of the brown speaking for his lack of focus on the conversation, the conversation that Chanyeol was trying to have.

So he hadn’t pushed it; Baekhyun’s attitude telling of his almost discomfort, of his worry, of his…  _ something.  _ However, as he stood in the foyer, an audience to the way Baekhyun was now standing still, shoulders bunching up around his ears— trying to make himself feel small,  _ invisible  _ almost… 

… Chanyeol couldn’t help the concern from bubbling up.

“... Baekhyun?” Chanyeol called, voice tilting up a little at the end, the concern showing. He had his eyes focused on the other’s, or at least, as much as he could, that is. The other still had his gaze focused down on the ground, eyes hidden behind the gentle fall of his bangs, making it impossible for Chanyeol to meet them.

Growing even more concerned, Chanyeol only furrowed his brows, lips pursing into a little pout when all that he was responded with was a minute hum. It had come off rather absent-minded, Baekhyun still not entirely focused on Chanyeol and mind fixated on something else, toes fiddling about his socks, and soon enough Baekhyun’s lack of focus had caused Chanyeol’s concern to develop into genuine worry.

Slowly bringing his hands up, Chanyeol let both of his palms gently rest on the curves of Baekhyun’s shoulders, and that action along had been successful in coaxing the latter’s gaze up, Baekhyun finally lifting his chin and eyes, meeting Chanyeol’s own. 

There was a momentary glint of startle, one that was mirrored in the way that Baekhyun had jumped a little too, but it faded away soon enough. The unveiling of that glimmer of shock gave way for Chanyeol, letting him truly see all the other emotions that the other was feeling, allowing him to readily read the other wholly and completely. Of course, the emotions that he found swirling about in Baekhyun’s widened eyes hadn’t surprised him, for they were ones that he had expected to see there; confusion, lost, worry, and even a little bit of  _ fear. _

However, it wasn’t the presence of those emotions that had caused him to grow even more worried, but the fact that those emotions were in  _ Baekhyun’s _ eyes— a person whom he had never seen look so…  _ lost—  _ so worried, fearful,  _ panicked— _ that had him even more on the edge. Chanyeol tries to recall what could have possibly happened that day, mind shuffling through the hours they spent at both school and then the tuition centre, wanting—  no,  _ needing _ to find out when exactly Baekhyun had become…  _ this. _

He hadn’t had to spend too much time, though, for he realises that whatever that had happened, whatever that had caused Baekhyun to be like this, occurred somewhere between after the end of their lunch break to, well, now. He remembers how jovial Baekhyun had looked during lunch, and that was even after they had all received their exam results; their teachers distributing their graded papers first thing in the morning— 

_ Did the comments start then…? _

… but Baekhyun had seemed fine during their student council meeting later on in the afternoon. He hadn’t been as cheerful as he had been during lunch, but he had still retained all the poise and confidence that he was associated with; level-headed and focused, so…

_ Was it  _ after _ the meeting, then— _

“— Nothing happened, Chanyeol.” The sentence had come so unexpectedly, so hushed yet so cutting, that it had Chanyeol instantly pulled out of his own musings, shaking his head almost disorientedly. His reaction wasn’t surprising, though, considering how this was the first time that he was hearing the other’s voice in a good eight or so hours.

Watching calmly, Baekhyun shrugged out a low, “... at least, nothing that really concerns you” as the day’s events played about in his head; almost cinematically. They panned from scene to scene, from frame to frame, and Baekhyun could only wince as he watched it all replay yet again, as he  _ heard _ it all being replayed yet again. 

Except he wasn’t given the chance to, Chanyeol’s firmer squeezing of his shoulders succeeding in drawing his attention from the play in his head, focusing on the other’s eyes once again. 

Gone was the surprise, replaced instead by stern,  _ fierce _ determination. It wasn’t an expression that was foreign on the other’s face, but rather quite the opposite; Baekhyun having had seen it countless times over during their student council meetings— 

—… especially during  _ their meetings. _

… and it spoke of one thing, and one thing only.

…  _ Whatever Chanyeol wants, Chanyeol gets. _

… and right now, what he wanted was answers, and answers  _ only. _

“... That means that it still concerns me, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol had murmured, tone still very much worried, but seeming even more serious with how it was void of any form of kid or joke. “Something happened today, Baekhyun, and it concerns us  _ both. _

“... So  _ tell me, _ Baekhyun-ah.

“...  _ We’re in this together, aren’t we…?” _

… and Baekhyun doesn’t know— can’t really pinpoint what it was, what it must have been; was it the way that Chanyeol was looking at him? Was it the stringent demand for answers, the need doused in heavy concern, in worry? Was it the way that he was holding onto his shoulders, palms heavy and hot with reassuring warmth, a reminder that Baekhyun— that Baekhyun wasn’t alone? That he had someone, that someone was right there for him to lean on? 

Or was it the way that Chanyeol had said his words; able to read in between the lines and accurately pointing out how something  _ had _ indeed happened— something rather drastic, something that involved the both of them— and yet at the same time so adamant in his reassurance, the earnestness in how he had said that  _ they were in this together? _

Baekhyun doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think that even could find it in himself to figure out, for the next second he came to, a quiet sob had slipped past his lips.

He doesn’t know what brought it all on, just as lost as Chanyeol had been right then; the shock on his face mirroring the one Baekhyun was feeling in his heart. But Baekhyun couldn’t dwell on it, wasn’t given the luxury to for it was at that very moment that everything; all of his feelings, his emotions— the confusion, the lost, the worry, the panic, the  _ fear— _ all came tumbling in on one another, shaking and piling and building and growing and  _ convulsing— _

_ “— I—” _ Baekhyun had stuttered, voice choppy and tone distressed, lips curling behind sobs and eyes welling with tears,  _ “— I’m  _ scared, _ Chanyeol…” _

—… before  _ exploding. _

With havoc wrecking over his frame, Baekhyun was soon enough nothing but shakes and trembles, nothing but tears and cries. The sudden influx of wet tears and thick distress had completely caught him off-guard, Baekhyun not having realised the extent to just how the day’s events, just how  _ those comments _ had affected him. They played through his head once again, his own palms coming up to rest against his protruding stomach, pressing firmly against the stretched flesh as each and every sentence, as each and every  _ word _ echoed in his ears yet again.

He hadn’t realised he was saying them all outloud, his own panic-riddled worry and choking upset overriding all other senses; his cries and thoughts and tears and words all morphing into one.

_ “Every— Everyone  _ knows,  _ Yeol!” _

_ “We can’t hide it for l—long anymore! Everyone’s— everyone’s suspecting!” _

_ “They were all looking and some— some were pointing at her— questioning— and I— I—” _

_ “—… I’m  _ scared,  _ Yeol…” _

_ “... I’m so  _ scared…”

… and Baekhyun needn’t say more.

For Chanyeol understood.

Chanyeol  _ understood. _

Baekhyun’s words could only mean one thing, and it was quite apparent what it was. 

The comments weren’t about his scores. It wasn’t about his exam results. It wasn’t something  _ superficial. _

… It was something more real— something more  _ pressing. _

… Something involving the baby.

…  _ Something involving their baby. _

He had known that this day would come eventually, having long accepted that the day would come where they wouldn’t be able to hide it under their school shirts and hoodies anymore, that  _ Baekhyun _ wouldn’t be able to hide it under layers anymore. 

He had known that everyone would find out eventually.

… He just never knew that it would be this soon.

… yet in the grand scheme of things, when he were to take into account just how far along Baekhyun was, how large his stomach was getting; tummy ballooning substantially that it would have made sense when people started taking double-takes. It made sense when their schoolmates started frowning whenever they caught sight of the seemingly-always-cold president, when they classmates started scrutinising the other and whispering amongst themselves, theorising and deducing and concluding all on their own.

…  _ He just never knew that it would be this soon. _

So he understood, taking in a deep breath and nodding as it truly settled in; the fact that it was now starting to get even more  _ real,  _ even more  _ public _ digesting. He could understand Baekhyun’s fear, now seeing just exactly why the other had been  _ off _ the entire day.

It was scary.

It was one thing for Baekhyun himself to find out that he was showing; the first day that he turned up at lobby swathed in a hoodie having been a turning point for Chanyeol himself. But it was  _ another _ thing for  _ others _ to find out; for  _ others _ to start seeing, to start looking, wondering  _ “hey hold on for a second— he’s  _ pregnant…?”

It made the situation, it made their reality so much more  _ real, _ the both of them going through similar stages of forced acceptance amidst their panic;  _ this was real, they are pregnant, and everyone is going to know. _

_ Everyone in  _ school _ is going to know. _

“I—” a muffled sob quickly interrupted Chanyeol’s thoughts, dragging his focus from where it was, directed at the realisation that the pregnancy was going to, slowly and steadily, become public news, to instead focus on Baekhyun. The other was still very much distraught, tears slipping past lashes to trail down splotched cheeks, lips curled up behind cries— cries he was desperately trying to hold in.

Baekhyun was clearly not handling the news well; shaking and trembling and choking on his own tears so harshly that it had Chanyeol instantly blinking back into focus.

He couldn’t focus on his own self right now.

Nevermind his own feelings, his own stand and thoughts on the situation, on  _ their _ situation.

Baekhyun’s was more important.

_ Baekhyun _ was more important.

It was with that single sentence, that single thought in his head that Chanyeol did what he did next. It was almost unthinkingly done, the latter focusing entirely on getting the other to calm down, on getting  _ Baekhyun _ to calm down, to get a hold of his emotions because  _ “Breathe, Baek, breathe. Calm down, and breathe, c’mon, do it for me. This isn’t good for our baby, Dr. Kim asked you to take care and not stress, right? So breathe with me.” _

… For his hands had shifted. Palms instead now smoothing over soft, thin skin, gliding over the other’s neck before finally landing on his cheeks, the hold gentle. Chanyeol hadn’t hesitated to thumb away the few tears that were still trailing down his cheeks, touch so fleeting but so effective, cleaning up the mess of tracks on reddened cheeks. Hushes and shushes had accompanied his movements, slipping past his lips periodically and in tandem with his thumbing over the apples of Baekhyun’s cheeks, all of which were fueled by nothing else than the intense need to calm the other down.

Unthinking, unconscious.

Without even a second of hesitation.

… and that had applied to the next thing that Chanyeol did too; all of them applying to what he did next.

… for he had pulled the other in, subtly coaxing him in before tucking his face into his neck, uncaring of the mess of tears that would surely stain his own collar. The effect was instantaneous, for Baekhyun had immediately quietened down, the last of his harsher sobs leaving his lips as they died down to a muffled whimper, resting his head where it was buried in Chanyeol’s neck.

Chanyeol could feel how Baekhyun had his fists gripping his own school blazer; nimble fingers curling so gently, yet at the same time so desperately into the soft fabric as his body trembled with the tail ends of his cries. Breathing in, Chanyeol dragged one of his hands from where they were perched on Baekhyun’s cheeks to instead wrap around the other’s back; hold just as gentle—

“... We’ll be okay, Baekhyun-ah…”

—… and the other splaying over the stretched skin, hold just as  _ desperate. _

_ “... We’ll be okay.” _

 

* * *

 

_ “... I’ll see you tomorrow, alright Baek?” _

_ “Oh?” a smirk, as teasing as it was surprised, “we have nicknames for each other now?” _

_ A scoff, before an indignant, “I’m the father of the kid, Baek, as you are the carrier. I believe we’ve crossed  _ much more _ intimate boundaries for us to be wary of nicknames right now.” _

_ Laughing lips, brightened eyes, “Yeah, okay, that’s quite true.” _

_ A smile, reciprocated, before a lone frown. _

_ “... We’re missing something, aren’t we, Yeol…?” _

_ Confusion, comical. _

_ “Missing something—?” a cupping of the swollen belly, a pointed gaze, a soft smile. _

_ Softening eyes, understanding nods, before a quiet sigh. _

_ “... Haneul.” _

_ Wide smiles, curving of eyes— “... it isn’t a nickname, but…” _

_ A serene exhale; peaceful.  _ Fond.

_ “... It’s perfect.” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... It’s perfect for  _ her.”

 

* * *

 

**Week 19**

The silence of the room was the only sound that he could hear, what with it giving rise for every other possible noise in the room, volume heighted. The whirring of the air-conditioner had never been this blaring, and neither had the flickering of paper every few seconds, beat only by the rhythmic, metallic clicking of the balls on the Newton’s Cradle.

The tension was thick in the room. Palpable, stifling, and Baekhyun found it hard to breathe. The already small room only felt smaller when all that Baekhyun could hear, when all that Baekhyun could  _ feel, _ were both the principal’s and student advisor’s deep breathing and piercing stares.

Stares on  _ him. _

He could feel them both, feel each distinct movement, each and every single pointed glance on his frame. He could feel how they trailed over his whole body, gaze intense in their studying, in their  _ analysing, _ and the weight of their gaze only got heavier when Baekhyun realised that  _ that _ was the only thing they were doing—  _ studying him was their only focus. _

Initially, when Baekhyun was first brought into the principal’s office, called aside and guided to the cramped space by soft words from his student advisor, he hadn’t known exactly why.

He had wrecked his head, digging through and searching for a reason, flipping through all his memories of his past few days at school, in hopes of finding something that he had done that might have called for attention— that might have resulted in him needing to be called into the principal’s office. It hadn’t stopped, his brain still on overdrive even as he was seated in the room, right in front of their kind, yet equally as stern principal, his student advisor choosing to stand right by the side of the table.

… but they had taken that load off of his shoulders soon enough.

… for he hadn’t had to wait too long, eyes flickering back up, switching between their two gazes, to find out why he had been called in in the first place.

… and when he did—

“Baekhyun-sshi,” the principal started, tone speaking of his years of experience, roughened in wisdom. He had then leant forwards in his chair, perched right at the edge of his seat as he brought his arms up; forearms resting on the table and fingers interlaced. With a sigh leaving his lips, the principal only blinked, lips parting as he inhaled a deep breath before completing the rest of his sentence.

“... You need to abort the baby.”

—… Baekhyun felt his heart  _ stop. _


	7. Chapter 7

_ “I have to study hard if I wanna beat you at midterms, don’t I?” a cheeky smirk, challenging eyes. _

_ Scoffs, a playful roll of eyes, before a mocking, “As if you ever could, Park.” _

_ “You underestimate me, Baek,” chuckling, followed soon after by a tap of a wooden pencil against a nose. “Besides, the idea of it doesn’t seem all too bad, considering how we  _ both _ know what’s on the other end if we beat the other.” _

_ A furrowing of brows, features scrunched in confusion… before realisation; raised brows and parted lips. _

_ “The Yonsei scholarship  _ is _ pretty enticing,” a hum, thoughtful, “... too bad it’s going to be  _ mine.”

_ “Oh— you’re  _ on,  _ Byun.” _

_ “What’s there to be ‘on’ when we already know who’s going to win?” _

_ “Oh I’m going to win alright,” glinting eyes, playful smirks, “... I’ll make sure I win. _

_ “... Even if I have to play  _ dirty—”  _ a rush of limbs, before the scrambling of fingers, the pulling of giggles. _

_ “— Wait— Wait stop tickling me— my neck’s sensitive!” _

_ “Exactly!” _

 

* * *

 

**Week 19**

He doesn’t know what to think,  _ can’t _ even think, really— the words of the principal whirring about in his mind, echoing blaringly loud in his ears. It hadn’t left him even for a single second, the words sticking by him like some sort of parasitic leech; gnawing on his insides and rendering him empty, distraught, pained, lost, confused, hurt— God,  _ everything. _

Baekhyun had instantly left the principal’s office right as soon as he had dismissed him, mind not processing—  _ unable _ to process the words that were spilling past the student advisor’s lips, her words of guidance and reassurance entering in through one ear and leaving the other, going straight over his head. Her tone, soft and mellow and so, so,  _ so _ characteristic of a maternal figure; kind, caring,  _ comforting, _ should have helped ease Baekhyun right at that moment, yet—

— yet it hadn’t.

It  _ couldn’t. _

For the words that they had carried, for the syllables that had flowed from her lips, were anything but maternal.

Baekhyun might not have been paying much attention to her right then, what with his own overwhelming sense of fear, of lost, of  _ helplessness and hopelessness _ wreaking havoc in his mind and freezing his blood, shaking his limbs and stealing his breath. Except that there had been a few familiar words, a few familiar  _ terms _ that had been uttered; ones that had been repeated back in the confines of the principal’s room, the only difference being it said in a tone that was not her own.

The words had stuck, sentences and statements, terms and  _ offers _ molding and meshing about as one in his head, dizzying. It hadn’t helped Baekhyun in anyway whatsoever when some, when  _ specific _ ones were emphasised, the repeating of those words by the student advisor herself only causing those exact words, those sentences to pulse in his head; bolded and blaring.

_ “It is only in our best interest, Baekhyun-sshi, as a school that wants to protect their students and the school itself.” _

_ “As the most established, most prestigious institute in all of South Korea, we have set our standards high, and the ones imposed on our students are  _ higher.”

_ “We only accept the best of the best, something which you, Baekhyun-sshi, are a living testament of. However that also means that we do not tolerate anything less than the best, something that bleeds into our students’ actions.” _

_ “As an institute that prides itself on its reputation for honing and nurturing the better, and developing them into the best, we hence will deal with the aforementioned actions appropriately.” _

It had been said in so many words, the inevitable. Both the principal and the student advisor had only kept beating around the bush, something that Baekhyun could only chalk up to them either wanting to explicitly establish how it was not  _ their _ fault, but rather the  _ “school” _ as a whole for what they were about to say, or they had simply been humane, compassionate and sympathetic enough to try as much as they could to soften the blow, to lessen the impact of what their next words would have on the student.

He hadn’t known what to think at that time, couldn’t really decide on which one was the right reason, and for good reason too. With the statement that followed, hushed and quiet in plain volume but deafening in the direness of it all; quite monumental, quite outrageous, Baekhyun could understand if the reason had been  _ both. _

_ “... the aforementioned “actions” includes pregnancy, Baekhyun-sshi,” _ he remembers hearing the principal mumble, ears strained as he only continued blinking down onto his lap, only his  _ belly. _ His palms had instantly flattened against the stretched skin, fingers smoothing over the bump through the thick cotton of the hoodie, the fabric in itself stretched.

… and Baekhyun remembers thinking, realising that this was inevitable; that their pregnancy wouldn’t retain to be private information. After all, it was evident in how Chanyeol’s own hoodie, the very hoodie he had been using for the past two or so weeks, one that had sat on his shoulders a size too big all this while, was fitting rather snugly about his abdomen.

It was enough of a testament, Baekhyun had realised then, as to just how much longer— just how  _ soon _ it would all come out into the open. That it would soon, that their pregnancy would eventually become public; spreading to their peers— to their  _ lecturers. _

… before finally,  _ finally, _ reaching the ears of the highers; of the principal, of the  _ Board. _

Rumours start small, but they spread far and wide.

… but rumours about important persons; of  _ famed _ persons, spread farther, and they spread wider.

A category that Baekhyun himself knew, very well, that both him and Chanyeol fell under.

_ “... It is for the sake of the school, the name of which carries you and the name of which you carry, that we abort the baby.” _

… he just never knew that the consequences of them would be this dire.

 

* * *

 

_ “Hey, Yeol…?” A hum, preoccupied, focus directed on kneading flesh,  _ massaging.

_ “What is it, Baek?” A firmer press of palms, a pulling of a sigh; satisfaction, serenity. _

_ “... Just,” an inhale, “... what’s gonna happen…? _

_ “... What’s  _ really _ gonna happen once everyone at school finds out…?” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … Silence; deafening, before sighs, huffed in resolution, in determination. _

_ “Nothing’s going to happen, Baek,” a squeezing of shoulders; reassuring rather than relaxing, “I told you, didn’t I…? They won’t let anything happen to you. _

_ “... You’re a top scholar, a star student. The number one candidate for practically all universities; you’re crucial to the school, Baek. _

_ “... You’re more important than everyone else.” _

_ Kneading of shoulders, of biceps, of forearms, of  _ hands.

_ “... and you’re already in your second trimester, Baek,” quiet, hushed.  _

Intimate.

_ “... they won’t let you give up the baby— they won’t make you give up  _ our _ baby, Baek.” _

_ Trailing of palms against flesh; up and up and  _ up _ along arms, along a slender neck, before cupping cheeks;  _ cradling.

_ “... I won’t let them.” _

_ “... I  _ won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Baekhyun hadn’t had to wait to wait too long for Chanyeol to arrive. All it took was a lone text message, one that was kept as concise and curt as possible without revealing too much; Baekhyun realising and understanding that whatever that had caused him to leave school right in the middle of the day having been much too important, much too  _ sensitive _ of a topic to reveal via words tapped onto a screen.

He wasn’t berated for leaving school right after the talk with the principal, his student advisor in fact having had encouraged him to do so. It was understandable why they had allowed that, considering how not only was Baekhyun now faced with decision to make— one that was monumental, one that had a  _ price. _ Moreover, it didn’t help their conscience that it was  _ them; _ as the principal and as the student advisor themselves, who had put Baekhyun in that situation— who are  _ forcing _ him into making a decision.

He could see it in their eyes; the muted “I’m sorry”s and “I didn’t want to do this, Baekhyun-sshi”s, but it hadn’t helped Baekhyun in any way whatsoever. In the end, it wouldn’t ever change the fact that they were forcing him into making a choice, making a decision.

… and it wouldn’t change the fact that they had heavily hinted at exactly  _ which  _ decision they wanted him to take.

… because what else can Baekhyun do, what other possible decision could he make, when all that he was faced— when all that he was  _ given, _ was one of two options? When they had pointed out explicitly the consequences, the things that were at stake; the privileges, the freedom, the reputation, the emotional, physical, mental, and financial burdens—

… the financial burdens he would have once they took his Seoul Science High School scholarship away…?

With his blood running cold, Baekhyun could only stifle yet another sob, cotton covered palm pressing against both his nose and his mouth. The grey of the fabric was heavily darkened now, the tears having had dotted and soaked through the thick cotton so much, the contrast between the dry and wet fabric never having been so stark.

He didn’t want to break down, Baekhyun believing that tears, that  _ his _ tears at this point were insignificant, were dismissable when compared to the grand scheme of things; to what was on the line.

… to  _ who _ was on the line.

Pressing the flat of his other palm against the curve of his belly, Baekhyun only blinking his eyes shut as he pushed the tips of his fingers— the only parts of his hands that were exposed, right against his skin, growing firmer and firmer with each passing second. He was desperate to feel the baby, desperate to feel  _ their _ baby, even through the thick cotton of the hoodie, even through the material of his school shirt under it.

He was desperate to feel  _ her, _ because—

—… because he might not get the chance to next time.

The feeling of self-hatred, of self-loathing had never been as intense as it did right then, Baekhyun clenching his eyes as he felt yet another sob rising up from his throat, clogging up right at the back of it. He couldn’t believe what he was considering, shoulders hunching and thighs tensing as his back curled in on himself, as he caved in on himself.

His heart was thudding so loudly in his chest, pumping so erratically and blood rushing through his veins so rapidly; muscles tense and frame rigid as he let himself be consumed, whole, in the hatred— in the  _ loathe.  _ It had all been sparked from a momentary feeling of disbelief, of appal, when Baekhyun found himself actually considering going through with the abortion.

Yet he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help considering it when it seemed like the most viable, the most  _ reasonable  _ decision that he could make. He was being threatened with the withdrawal of his scholarship. He was being threatened with the reality that if it was done so, the school would withdraw his scholarship all throughout the past three, coming to four years that he had been studying. He was being threatened with the fact that come the withdrawal of the scholarship, he is expected to pay the monumental fees, the fees for all his four years of study— and that was something that Baekhyun couldn’t afford.

Paying millions of won in just a matter of a month was not something that Baekhyun could afford— that  _ Baekbeom _ could afford.

… but it wasn’t only that that had Baekhyun reconsidering his decision to keep the baby. It wasn’t only the financial aspect of it all that had him rethinking, that had him force aside his wreck of emotions and the  _ love _ he already had for the little one— for  _ his _ little one to instead think rationally.

… for it was the fact that he would be kicked out of school.

It was the fact that he had also been threatened, stated point blank how the school would have to dismiss him, should he choose to keep the baby. 

… should he keep  _ Haneul. _

That condition was the one that had him instantly reconsidering, mind instantly focusing on the words, the aftermath, the  _ reality _ that he would be granted, that  _ Chanyeol _ would be granted, that  _ Hyung _ would be granted, should he choose to abort her.

The principal and the student advisor had laid it all out, showcasing him his hand and nitpicking at each and every single card in his deck; detailing vividly the pros and cons of the two decisions that he was expected choose from, to decide on.

Should he choose to abort her, he would still be granted his scholarship and he would not be expected to pay his tuition fees; not for any single year of study, for the scholarship had covered that. He would still be enrolled in the school, and hence would also retain his position as the president of the student council, and should he continue on as the student he always has been, would continue to be given the honorary title of top scholar.

However the pros, the  _ benefits _ of him choosing to abort her hadn’t stopped there; for the two members of the school Board had then went on into stating how Baekhyun would still be given the Yonsei scholarship, the very one he had earned after topping their entire cohort in the midterms— in  _ every single examination season. _ They had then went on to state how he wouldn’t be subjecting his little one to a life of absent parents; knowing that should Baekhyun start attending university, he wouldn’t be able to take care of his child, knowing just how hectic university life could be, how university life  _ would  _ be.

So it was all of these factors, all of these details, that had had only contrasted just how grim the consequences would be should he choose to  _ keep _ her.

The fact that he would not only lose his scholarship, but be expected to pay all of his fees accumulating to the past four years of study had been one thing, but putting himself— putting his  _ brother _ in debt was another. It was the fact that he was expected to pay it as a lump sum; the cash to be handed over within a month from the day that he makes his decision, something he knew they couldn’t afford, a deadline they couldn’t meet.

It was the fact that Baekhyun wouldn’t be granted his University scholarship; the one thing that he had come to realise was his only ticket to graduating from a top university, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to pay his tuition fees debt-free otherwise. It was the fact that he wouldn’t be able to graduate from university— he wouldn’t even be able to graduate from  _ high school _ that had him reconsidering.

… and that was all it came down to.

Basically, and fundamentally.

… because everything else aside; the baby, the burdens, the soon-to-be parenting, Chanyeol—  _ everything else aside— _

—… the only thing that Baekhyun wanted to do, the only thing that he had  _ ever _ wanted to do; not as Baekhyun, the student council president, not as Baekhyun, the top scholar from the most prestigious high school in all of South Korea— hell, not even as Baekhyun, a South Korean high school senior—

… but as Baekhyun— as  _ Byun  _ Baekhyun…

… was to make his brother proud.

… was to make  _ Hyung _ proud.

For it was  _ Hyung _ that had taken care of him; feeding him and sheltering him and clothing him ever since he had reached his first double digits in age. For it was  _ Hyung _ that had provided for him, dropping out of high school, forgoing graduation just to be able to devote enough hours to his part-time job, a waiter at a local, family-run restaurant to be able to afford three meals a day and a present for Baekhyun’s every birthday. For it was  _ Hyung _ that had given up his own education, his own freedom, to be able to send little Baekhyun to school, to be able to give him a bigger backpack every year, to give him the highlighters that he needed, to give him the running shoes he wanted.

… It was  _ Hyung _ that had given up his entire  _ life _ to give Baekhyun the chances he didn’t get, to give him the opportunities he couldn’t get. 

… and it was  _ Hyung _ that had given Baekhyun his chance at life, by giving up his own.

… and the only thing that Hyung wanted to see, the only event that Hyung wanted to attend—

—… was his little brother’s graduation.

…

…

…

… All Baekhyun wants to do is to make Hyung  _ proud; _ to see his smile, to see him wipe his tears, seated right there at the front row of the hall as he watches his younger brother— the very person he had given up his life for, accomplishing the one thing he never could.

…  but Hyung wouldn’t be able to attend it, not when there was no graduation in the first place.

…

…

… and it was with these reasons, this logic, this rational yet at the same time weighty,  _ heavy _ personal reasons did Baekhyun finally come to a decision. Explanations of just how much he was putting on the line here; how he was not only just going to sacrifice the future of their daughter— her stability, his being able to provide for her,  _ them _ being able to be with her as parents, dedicating the time and effort into raising her through their years of college—

… but that he was sacrificing everything, and he means  _ everything,  _ that Hyung had ever done for him.

… for all of the sweat, all of the blood, and all of the tears that Hyung has shed for him for the past nineteen years—

… all of it will be for naught.

It was selfish, that Baekhyun knew, but he had thought that him rationalising how the future of their daughter was at stake had softened it all, levelling it. After all, in spite of everything Baekhyun was still thinking rationally; carefully evaluating all of his options and the consequences that each one of them held, weighing them against one another and figuring out the best possible option, the best possible  _ decision. _

… Which was why he couldn’t help but feel hurt, heart twinging even more in his chest, as crushed as it already was from the weight of his choice, when all that he was responded with was a vehement shaking of the other’s head, the browns of Chanyeol’s eyes burning in the sudden, almost rash, intense fury; the anger coursing through him visible through the furrow of his brows and the inward-curling of his lips.

Chanyeol had his hands on his hips, pacing about the room; agitated and obviously furious. It was a change that Baekhyun hadn’t been expecting, Chanyeol’s reaction to him uttering his final decision not having been one that he accounted for.

Of course, the other hadn’t turned up at the apartment already livid. In fact, Chanyeol had been rather worried, the lines marring his forehead speaking volumes of confusion and anxiousness, his furrowed brows, widened eyes, and parted lips— through which harsh pants and laboured breathing could be heard— only further adding to his disheveled image. He had clearly been concerned, so worried to the point where he had actually ran up the stairs; Baekhyun able to deduce it all from the single glance at his damp forehead and the fact that they were living on a double-digit floor.

Yet seeing Chanyeol like that had brought about a sense of calm, a sense of relief; the concern that the other was carrying for him comforting like no way other. He couldn’t explain it, Baekhyun not able to pinpoint exactly why Chanyeol’s worry had brought about a wave of comfort over him— to the point where Baekhyun had outright begin to sob.

Perhaps it was just the sight of  _ Chanyeol, _ the fact that the other was right there with him then; the other father of  _ their daughter _ finally there with him. It had brought about some sort of release, a reassurance that it was now okay, that he was now allowed to be vulnerable— to  _ break. _

… and like a coil wound too tight, each and every single tear, each and every sob— every  _ cry, _ had instantly convulsed in on itself before releasing, before  _ exploding. _

It was through tears, relentless and countless as they tracked down reddened and splotched cheeks, that Baekhyun expressed the hurt, the lost, the desperation, the  _ vulnerability _ that the need to make the decision had put him in. It was through cries, wailed and heartbreaking, unforgiving as they were ripped out of his throat did Baekhyun express what had transpired, words stuttered and breathing choppy, tumbling over one another as he recounted what took place within the walls of the principal’s office. It was through his grip, tight and desperate as his hands curled into the fabric of the other’s blazer, as his fingers dug into the flesh of the other’s, did Baekhyun express the hurt, the pain, the utter  _ sorrow _ that his decision had put in him, had made him feel.

Baekhyun was  _ breaking. _

… and he was breaking for  _ her, _ he was breaking for  _ himself, _ he was breaking for  _ them. _

… and he thought that Chanyeol understood, that Chanyeol  _ will _ understand.

Just like he always did.

… Except…

… Except he  _ hadn’t. _

… For Chanyeol had begun to pull away, his own arms unwinding from where they were curled around his back. That alone had put Baekhyun straight back into fear, the panic and anxiety that he thought had been lost now returning full force,  _ multiplied. _ He hadn’t known what to think, so very afraid for when Chanyeol had started to pull back, taking it as though he was  _ leaving—  _ that had Baekhyun whimpering.

It hadn’t helped either, the fact that Chanyeol only held his wrists, the once comforting warmth now icy, the once reassuring, grounding hold detached. It was frightening to Baekhyun, seeing how aloof Chanyeol had gotten, just how much his demeanour had changed in a matter of  _ seconds _ just like that— just as soon as he mumbled out his decision.

… a decision that he thought Chanyeol would understand.

_ … Just like he always did. _

So when all that Baekhyun was met with was Chanyeol overpowering his pushes, desperate to remain in the other’s hold, restraining and preventing him from grabbing onto his blazer, he couldn’t help the sob from slipping past.

… and especially not when he had finally looked up, his eyes meeting Chanyeol’s own.

… For their had looked so  _ stricken, _ the once bright brown dulling, veiling over, pupils  _ trembling _ in his irises. Baekhyun could see each and every single play of emotions in the other’s eyes, could see just how— how shocked, how disbelieving, how hurt, how  _ conflicted _ the other was, gaze unfocused. Chanyeol had paled too, skin losing the warm tan with every shaky inhale he took in.

… and Chanyeol—

“You— you  _ can’t, _ Baek—”

—…  _ Chanyeol was breaking too. _

He was shaking, lips clamping up as he swallowed down a gulp, gaze flitting over to where Baekhyun’s bump rested against his own abdomen, to where  _ Haneul _ was resting. The sight of the other’s bump, of where the baby, where  _ their _ baby, their  _ daughter _ was laying between them, barely four months along had prompted him to reach out. Hands releasing their grip on Baekhyun’s wrists, fingers inching down to where  _ Haneul _ was lying, was growing—

_ “You can’t give her up.” _

Apparently that was all it took, that single statement carrying so much weight that it had Chanyeol’s own knees buckling under him, legs shaky and fingers trembling as he dropped down to his knees. It was only settling in right then, Chanyeol finally realising the gravity of the situation, of the decision that Baekhyun had made—

_ “... you can’t give  _ Haneullie  _ up, Baek,” _ a shaky exhale,  _ “... please.” _

With his shoulders trembling, Chanyeol only hunched over the other, back bending as he gently rested his forehead against where their daughter, where  _ his _ daughter was. He couldn’t help the way he had crumpled in on himself, the distress at the very real possibility that— that  _ he wouldn’t get to hold her _ growing with each second he stayed hunched over the head, with each second he stayed pressing his head against his daughter, with each second he cradled her through her carrier’s tummy.

He had absolutely broke then, in a manner very much similar to that of Baekhyun just moments prior; the sudden weight of how Haneul may not even live to see him, who may not even _ live _ crashing down on him so harshly, unforgiving. Cries and sobs instantly left his lips, spilling and tumbling over one another as he allowed himself to truly break, heart shattering and entire frame shaking as he gripped the fabric of the hoodie tighter,  _ desperate. _

Desperate to  _ feel her. _

To remind himself, to think, to  _ believe  _ that his daughter was still there with him.

_ That she wasn’t leaving him. _

… and it had completely shattered Baekhyun then, his own tears once again welling up in his eyes at— at  _ everything. _ The hurt and the pain that Chanyeol was going through, crying and wailing and utterly distraught at the decision that he had come to make. The decision that the principal and the student advisor had made him make, had  _ forced _ him to make. The unfairness of the entire situation; how it seemed that everything was working against them, how it seemed like the  _ world _ didn’t want to give them their child, their daughter.

…

…

…

… They only wanted Haneul.

Just  _ Haneul. _

… They weren’t asking for much, were they…? They weren’t asking for power, they weren’t asking for fortune.

They were just asking for their daughter.

…

…

…

… So why…

… Why should they have to lose everything— why should they have been expected to  _ give up everything, _ in order to bring their baby girl back home?

Why were they expected to give up their lives, to give up all that they had; their todays, their tomorrows, just so they could have their daughter? Just so they could bring her home?

… Why were they expected to give up all of  _ Haneul’s _ tomorrows, just for her todays?

…

…

…

… and it was that last line, that last thought that ran through Baekhyun’s head, that had him biting down on his lip as he clenched his eyes shut, feeling his tears slip and splatter against his hand.

The hand he had perched in Chanyeol’s hair, fingers combing but hand trembling.

It didn’t matter how many promises Chanyeol made, it didn’t matter how much money he had; the words of how he promises to take care of them, to take care of  _ Baekhyun _ should he choose to keep Haneul—  _ “I can pay for your college, I can handle any expenses that we have, Baek— just  _ please, _ I can take care of you, I can take care of us all.”— _

… When Baekhyun wouldn’t be able to take care of himself at all?

What were the possibilities, what would be his reality, when he was going to be nothing but a high school dropout, a nobody with even less to his name, a—

— a  _ failure. _

… a failure to his family…?

The same family, the same  _ person _ who had given up his life so that Baekhyun could live his own…?

…

…

…

_ I’m sorry, Yeollie. _

_ … I’m sorry, Haneullie. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … I’m so, so,  _ so  _ sorry. _


	8. Chapter 8

_ A digging of hands into freshly laundered cotton, the thick fabric soft. _

_ “... It looks really soft, and really comfortable too,” musing, before a soft smile. “I can see why you’re always wearing it, and knowing you, Pumpkin, you’d probably wear it even without the excuse of hiding the bump.” _

_ A reddening of ears, face digging into downy grey. “It’s… I can’t help that the hoodie’s  _ nice,  _ Hyung…” _

_ Chuckling, and a pinching of cheeks, “No one’s accusing you of anything, Hyun-ah. No one can fault you for liking it; it’s a great hoodie.” _

_ A deep inhale; the smell of fresh cotton, of  _ earth and citrus  _ filling his lungs. _

_ … and movement. _

_ … Movement in his tummy. _

_ “... Yeah,” a wistful smile, before a splaying of palms against stretched skin, “... yeah, I like it a lot.” _

_ … and  _ Park Haneul  _ does too. _

 

* * *

 

_ It can’t— _

_ It can’t be. _

_ No, _ no— _ he wouldn’t do that, Baekhyun wouldn’t do that. _

_ Baekhyun loves her, Baekhyun loves _ Haneul— _ he wouldn’t— _

It was with these thoughts, all of these words running through Chanyeol’s mind that were his only company, tumbling and twisting and yelling and blaring about in his head as he strode his way over to the Byun apartment door. They hadn’t let up even once, sticking right by his side and in his head, so incessant and so relentless all throughout his journey from their school to the apartment complex.

Yet he couldn’t blame them, couldn’t blame himself for having such thoughts.

Especially not so when they weren’t unfounded.

… There had been rumours.

The students and his peers and classmates apparently overhearing, the sources constantly changing yet the single line remaining the same. It had apparently all started from a single student who had seen the principal and the student advisor, both of them staying to the sides of the elevators, head down low and movements as discreet as possible as they headed up towards the student council room. She had seen them as she was heading down for lunch, hence fuelling her theory that considering how every other student would have been in the cafeteria then, it would be the perfect time should they wish to have possibly cornered a student.

Every other student would have been in the cafeteria.

… all except one.

It didn’t take anyone long to figure out exactly who the student in question was. After all, it was common knowledge at this point just who would be the only one cooped up in the student council room during their breaks.

… but as much as that claim, as much as that rumour had Chanyeol shifting uneasily in his seat, it wasn’t until that the student had described just how Baekhyun had looked then. It wasn’t until she had recounted in explicit detail how Baekhyun had looked so pale, how Baekhyun had been so  _ scared,  _ curling in on himself and digging his chin into his chest as he walked, gaze kept down. 

The fact that apparently the principal and student advisor had stayed in the room with him for a good few minutes hadn’t helped Chanyeol’s unease. In fact, it had only grown— the little bubble of unease expanding and expanding with each sentence that spilled from his schoolmate’s lips. 

_ “They’re definitely hiding something— I don’t know what it is, but they are! They were trying so hard to hide Baekhyun-sshi from everyone else’s eyes; shielding him and covering him, looking around— making sure the coast was clear.” _

_ “I don’t know what happened, really, but I have never seen Baekhyun-sshi look so…  _ pained.  _ He looked so absolutely torn, the two glances that I caught sight of him. I’ve never seen him look anything like that, and that’s why I remember it so clearly.” _

_ “... and he— he was holding his belly. He had his arms cradled right under the bump— he’s definitely pregnant, you guys, it’s  _ sooooo  _ obvious— and he was holding it so close— _

_ “— do you think that’s it? That that’s why the principal and student advisor had gone to get him? _

_ “... because he’s pregnant. Because he’s pregnant and he’s the star student right, they can’t possibly lose him— oh  _ fuck,  _ are they getting an abortion?!” _

… and it was that one line, that  _ last _ line, that had immediately knocked out all air from Chanyeol’s lungs.

It was that last line that had him on the edge of his seat all throughout the day, so tense and so unfocused during class. It was a first for him, being so overwhelmed by something else that wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, focus elsewhere and mind hazy.

There had been a nagging sense of doubt, of fear running through him at just the possibilities, the endless scenarios that could have been the result for that gathering between their principal and student advisor, and  _ Baekhyun. _ Chanyeol had tried to refute it all, though, shoving away all thoughts of how Baekhyun might have possibly went on ahead and gone through with the abortion— the only scenario that was, realistically, the most feasible. Instead he focused on the truth, on the fundamentals of their entire situation; thinking and justifying his belief that  _ Baekhyun wouldn’t go through with it. _

_ “Baekhyun wouldn’t do that— he loves Haneullie, he  _ loves _ her.”  _

_ “We talked about this— we discussed this, he wouldn’t go through with it when we’re both not in agreement on this.” _

_ “I told him that I would take care of him— that I would take care of us all. He doesn’t need to worry about anything financial because I’ve got us all covered.” _

These were the things that Chanyeol had tried to focus on instead, blocking out all of the negative ones and trusting,  _ believing _ only in the facts. The facts that were true; the fact that Baekhyun was still rational, strong-leveled and clear-headed, especially in times of immense stress and pressure— exactly like he would be in when confronted by the principal and student advisor. 

The fact that Baekhyun would evaluate his options, weigh them against one another— how Baekhyun would definitely choose to keep their daughter considering how his entire future is now secure, how Baekhyun wouldn’t give her up just because some asshole threatened him with debt and a bleak future. 

The fact that Baekhyun was selfless; that at the start of all this, he had already known the sacrifices that he would have to make— knowing just how much he would be losing just to have their child, their  _ daughter.  _ He had seen first hand just how much Baekhyun had willingly given up, how much he was willing to give up just to have Haneul.

… and the fact that Baekhyun  _ loves  _ her. The fact that Baekhyun was absolutely in love with their daughter, Chanyeol having seen first hand just how much he was willing to do anything for her— just how much he was willing to  _ risk _ for her.

Baekhyun loves Haneul.

…

…

…

… So why…

…  _ Why was Baekhyun’s tummy  _ flat…?

 

* * *

 

_ “... You’ve changed…” _

_ A hum, unfocused and detached. _

_ “You never noticed, did you…?” a quiet smile, before a meeting of eyes. _

_ “... You do this,” gentle coaxing of gazes, dropping down to his tummy. _

_ To the palm splayed over it. _

_ “... a lot.” _

_ Quiet chuckles, before a smoothing of a hand over stretched skin, rubbing warmth through the thin cotton. _

_ “I just can’t wait to hold her, that’s all.” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... You love her, don’t you?” _

_ A small smile, yet one that was wide, that was loud in its love, in its affection. _

_ “... I do.” _

_ “I love Haneul.” _

 

* * *

 

Silence was the only thing that enveloped them.

… and honestly, what else would? What else was suitable, was appropriate to be greeted with when you had just found out that—

— that  _ you no longer had your child…? _

… that the person who had been carrying it— the person who had been taking care of it, the person whom you had been taking care of— the one person whom you had trusted, with whom you were going to raise your child, your  _ daughter _ with—

—… had  _ willingly given her up…? _

When you thought that he had been willing to sacrifice everything, when you had thought that he was willing to risk it all just to be able to have her, to be able to hold her, to  _ raise _ her. When you thought that he would be right with you, through to the end just to be able to bring her into the world. When you had even stated, had even gone down to your knees,  _ begging _ as you held your daughter, cradling her through his womb,  _ promising _ that you would take care of him, that you would take care of  _ all _ of you, and yet...

“... You gave her up…?”

His tone had been nothing short of absolutely  _ shattered,  _ the once deep tenor only dipping deeper as soon as the reality, as soon as  _ his _ reality caught up with him.

There was no lying. There was no way that it could have been fake, no way that he was being deceived. He had hoped upon hope that his eyes had been lying, that the way Baekhyun’s situation with the principal and student advisor would play out would have been to what he had known of the other; to what he had  _ expected  _ the Byun Baekhyun that he knew, as the  _ carrier of his daughter,  _ to do.

He had prayed that his eyes were lying, the lack of rest from midterms and the stress from finally, and truly expecting Haneul, from  _ loving _ his daughter, had caught up to him. He had hoped that his eyes were simply playing tricks on him, the glaring flatness of Baekhyun’s belly an illusion.

… but Chanyeol had realised that it wasn’t, realised that none of this—  _ none of this,  _ was a trick of his eyes.

Baekhyun’s flat belly wasn’t an illusion.

Just as much as Baekhyun’s reddened eyes wasn’t an illusion, puffy and swollen. Just as much as Baekhyun’s tear-tracked cheeks weren’t an illusion, splotchy and red. Just as much as his heaving chest wasn’t an illusion, choked cries and hiccuped sobs leaving his lips, stuttering in his throat.

… It was all  _ real. _

They…

They didn’t have Haneul.

Haneul—

—… Haneul was  _ gone. _

…  _ Haneul was gone. _

“I—” yet another choked sob, spluttered through a whimpered cry, the resilience with which the other had been holding it back obvious in the intense heaving of his chest.

Chanyeol could only stand still, his own eyes blurring over in tandem with the quickening of his breathing; breaths getting more shallow with each second he took to process the situation, with each second he took to  _ digest _ it all. 

He couldn’t listen, ears ringing with the sound of his own thudding heart, with the rapid rushing of his blood. He couldn’t see, vision blurring over, either with his own emotional turmoil or his own distraught tears, or maybe even with both. He couldn’t even  _ think,  _ mind too preoccupied with the truth, with the  _ gravity _ of the situation.

He just— he  _ couldn’t do anything,  _ not when the only thing that mattered, when the only fact that mattered, was how—

“...  _ You gave her up, Baekhyun… _

“... _You gave Haneul_ _up…”_

… and that—

— that was all it took for Chanyeol to wholly, and completely,  _ break. _

With his shoulders instantly hunching up, head dipping down as his back caved in, the first few of his sobs began to spill. There hadn’t even been a build up in the cries, in the  _ wails,  _ instead coming out so harsh and so hard one after the other— unrelenting and unforgiving, forceful and  _ heavy. _

Each and every single sob that slipped past his lips, that was ripped out of his throat had been so weighted, so hefty in his emotions. Every ounce of the hurt, of the pain, of the  _ loss _ that he was feeling right at that very moment had expressed itself in the form of hot tears, of heaved breaths, of heart  _ shattering _ wails.

Chanyeol was shaking, frame weakened with each cry that ripped itself out of him, with each tear that slipped down his cheek. His limbs were visibly trembling with the effort of holding him up; hands shaking as they remained clamped over his mouth, and legs quivering under the weight of his own torso, of his own turmoil.

… turmoil from losing the only thing that mattered.

… the only thing he had come to  _ love. _

_ “You gave my daughter up, Baekhyun! _

_ “You gave  _ my daughter _ up!” _

 

* * *

 

_ “ _ _ Whose surname would she take once she’s out, Yeol?” _

_ Silence; quiet in its contemplation, comfortable in its wonder. _

_ “...  _ Park  _ Haneul has a nicer ring to it, don’t you think? _

_ A smile, before a smoothing of a hand over stretched skin. _

_ “Yeah,” chuckles, wistful and fond, “yeah, I think so too.” _

 

* * *

 

Baekhyun could only watch on, his own frame still but his tears, his cries even more so. He hadn’t tried to approach the other, couldn’t bring himself to when he felt that he didn’t have the right— when he had been the reason why Chanyeol was like this in the first place.

Instead Baekhyun stood aside, his own sobs clogged in his throat and own tears streaming down his cheeks, his own distraught a muted mirror of Chanyeol’s own. He hadn’t dared to lift his head either, shut eyes instead focused on the ground as he desperately tried to breathe; the immense sense of loss and despair radiating off of the other suffocating in the hallway.

It was painful, so painfully heartbreaking. The sight of Chanyeol breaking, of him  _ shattering _ into… into almost  _ nothing,  _ and all because of him.

… because of him,  _ Byun Baekhyun. _

Gone was the image of the calm, composed, and collected vice president. Gone was the image of the level-headed, always focused, always sharp heir to the Park conglomerate. Gone was the image of the rational, clear-minded, and driven student of a prestigious institute.

Gone was the image of the cool, the suave, arrogant nineteen year old, high school student.

… Replaced instead by a man, a  _ father— _

_ — a father who had just lost her daughter. _

“I thought—” hiccups were quick to interrupt the other, Chanyeol stuttering through his words as he finally,  _ finally _ gazed back up at the other. The sight that Baekhyun had been met with was not that he had seen before, was one that he hadn’t even prepared himself to be faced with— for Chanyeol’s eyes had been the distinct, had perfectly embodied all the hurt, all the pain, all of the lost and the devastation that he was feeling right then.

“...  _ I thought you loved her.” _

It was those words, that  _ accusation  _ that had Baekhyun’s breath hitching. They had signified an indifference, a deceit, one that Baekhyun had never carried— at least one that he —

_“I did, Yeol,”_ it was whispered, the words stuttered and breaking under the weight of his own emotions, of his own _guilt._ The feeling of loss, of how hollow he was hadn’t been something that Baekhyun dealt with well, much less easily. It had been so striking, the sudden emptiness that now resided in both his abdomen and in his heart; Baekhyun feeling that he had lost a part of himself, had _willingly_ _given away a part of himself_ back at the clinic.

A part that had grown to be essential; a  _ part _ of him, a source of happiness, a bright light at the end of the day.

Haneul might not have been that all throughout the pregnancy; Baekhyun knows very well how he hadn’t been too kind to their daughter at the beginning stages of his pregnancy, a fact that he has long come to loathe, that he has come to regret. He remembers how desperate he had been to get rid, to let go of her back when he had found out she was in him. He remembers the methods that he had tried, all the different things that he did to get her out, all because he hadn’t wanted her, hadn’t  _ loved _ her.

… and Baekhyun had thought that it would have stayed that way. He had thought that he wouldn’t have changed, continuing to treat the child inside of him as a— as a  _ parasite,  _ if it hadn’t been for—

“...  _ You,  _ Chanyeol…

_ “... You made me love her.” _

There were no lies in that statement, no dishonesty in that claim.

For it was true.

Because…

“...  _ I fell in love with her, because you did too. _

_ “... You showed me how to love her, you showed me how to love  _ our daughter—”

“— _ So why did you  _ kill her?!”

…

…

…

…  _ Silence. _

There was nothing but silence.

There wasn’t even breathing.

… Just two people, two persons. Broken, shattered,  _ ruined. _

Both in similar states of hurt, both experiencing the same level of pain, both experiencing a common loss.

… but they had differed; for even though they were in the same situation, dealing with the same devastation, they were still different.

… for only one was betrayed.

… for only one had truly,  _ truly _ lost his daughter; her willingly given up by the other, against his own wishes.

… and it was with that realisation, that fact, that had Chanyeol straightening his back; shoulders squaring as he raised his head high, gaze boring into the other from where it was elevated,  _ poised. _

He was slowly regaining control of himself, limbs relaxing and chest expanding, breathing as deep and as calm as he was slowly getting to be. Everything that he had lost upon the news— all the cool and the calm and the collected, all the confidence and the level-headedness and the sharpness, all the rationality, the clear-mindedness, the drive— it all came pouring back, seeping into his being and straightening his frame inch by inch, with each step he took, getting closer and closer.

It only took him three steps.

Three steps to meet the one person who killed his daughter.

The one person he trusted.

“... and here I thought that I was the inhumane one.”

The sentence had been whispered so menacingly low, hushed and  _ angry _ that it had Baekhyun flinching, shoulders hunching up to his ears as he bit down on his lips. He had felt yet another whimper, yet another sob rising up his throat, but it was the muted fury that Baekhyun heard— that he  _ felt _ radiating off of the other that had him biting back on it.

… but there was something about that sentence, about the words that were used that resulted in a crack in the muddled wreck that was his mind. It had got Baekhyun thinking, wondering in all the confusion that he could muster, for it had seemed…  _ out of place. _

… because…

… wasn’t  _ Baekhyun _ the inhumane one…?

… so why—

_ Why was Chanyeol suggesting that he was one too? _

…

…

…

He hadn’t had to wait long before he got his answer.

Chanyeol had appeared so… calm, the focus bleeding back into his eyes and mixing about with the anger there. Seeing him as such, looking as much livid as he was collected had sparked fear in the other, Baekhyun’s shaking now not only from both his and Chanyeol’s hurt, but also just how… how  _ foreign _ the latter was being.

He had never known Chanyeol to be quite like this— never known Chanyeol to be quite so outright, quite so  _ insane-looking— _

_ “... I hadn’t wanted her initially either, Baekhyun.” _

_ “... I had only used her, wanting to jibe you— to ruin you.” _

_ “You’ve always been better, always the top student, the star, the one  _ everyone _ adored.” _

_ “... You had nothing— you were  _ nothing  _ compared to me, and yet you had everything, yet you  _ took _ everything.” _

_ “... You were better than me. You had everything that I ever wanted.” _

_ “... and I wanted to take you down. I wanted you  _ out.”

_ “... Keeping you pregnant had been the only way.” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... Call me manipulative, call me power-hungry, call me petty, call me jealous, for  _ fuck’s _ sake, call me disgusting too.” _

_ “... but know this Baekhyun.  _ Know this.”

_ “... I may have used you, I may have manipulated you, but no matter how manipulative I had been, no matter how power-hungry, how petty, how jealous and how  _ disgusting _ I had been… _

_ “... I’ve never, and I would have  _ never _ killed anyone in doing so.” _

_ “... Especially not  _ my own daughter.”

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

—…  _ Maybe he hadn’t known Chanyeol at  _ all.


	9. Chapter 9

_“Oh— Yeol,_ _what’s this?”_

_ Softened eyes, a small smile, before the trailing of thick fingers against thin silver. _

_ “... It’ll be cute on her, wouldn’t it?” _

_ An exchange of glances, and fond smiles. _

_ “Yeah,” fingers trailing the engraved letters, digits gentle and touch soft, “... she’d look cute in it.” _

_ ‘Park Haneul’, the silver cursive glinting in the faint light, hanging freely from a thin chain. _

_ “... She’d look very cute with this necklace.” _

 

* * *

 

Silence.

There had been nothing but silence between them.

It had been going on for a good two weeks now, the both of them steering clear from the other ever since that day, ever since that fight.

Ever since the truth was spilt.

It shocked Baekhyun, the words that Chanyeol had screamed, the ones he yelled, the ones he cried and the ones that he whispered— all of them.

For he never had expected them.

_ Never. _

He remembers how hollow he felt, remembers how shaken and rattled he was as soon as Chanyeol’s words processed, as soon as they digested. He remembers feeling so very cold, his blood icy in his veins and frame freezing as his heart absolutely  _ stopped.  _ He remembers not being able to hear anything, ears ringing with the rush of Chanyeol’s words and the pulsating of his brutal honesty. He remembers not being able to see anything, vision so blurred and hazed over by the reality, by the flashes of memories, the little moments that both he and Chanyeol had— the ones that they had with their daughter, with their Haneul.

… and he remembers not being able to feel anything, the emotional turmoil having had taken so many twists, so many turns that it had all blurred into one—  _ empty. _

He had just dealt with the loss of his daughter, the hollowness in his lower abdomen, the lack of the familiar weight, of the swollen belly only fueling the immense  _ emptiness  _ that he felt. He had just dealt with the fact, the crushing realisation that he was no longer going to be able to hold her, that he was no longer going to be able to see her— he was no longer going to be able to hear her.

Her heartbeat silenced forever.

The heartbeat that had kept him company, that had kept him  _ breathing _ for the past twenty weeks. The heartbeat that allowed him to keep his head above the water, to continue to live and to push himself, to go above and beyond, to get  _ better and better— _

…  _ just so he could provide for her. _

To give her what she deserves, to give her the stability and the security that she deserves. To give her the support and to meet her needs. To give her the love, the  _ family  _ she deserves.

… but it had all been a pipe dream.

Nothing more than just a fantasy. Nothing more than just a hopeless wish.

For he had to deal with, for he had just dealt with the reality of it all, how that could never had happened. Not when he had had to choose. Not when he had to decide, forced to make a choice out of the only two that he had. To give up everything that he had, everything that he could have, to be reduced down to  _ nothing—  _ and then bring Haneul in, and to drag her down with him. Or to keep it all, to keep the life that he had been given, the ones  _ three others  _ have given up theirs for him to have, but needing to give her up.

It might have seemed like a selfish decision at that time, but Baekhyun was nothing but rational. He had carefully weighed them, pitting them against the other, and the only fair option that he could make was to give Haneul up.

He had justified himself, pulling himself from where he had been locked up, from where he was Byun Baekhyun, the  _ father of Park Haneul,  _ and instead looked at the situation from where he was simply Byun Baekhyun.

Byun Baekhyun, nothing more, and nothing less.

The process had been difficult; needing to lock up all the emotions that he was carrying. Those of distraught, of torn, of hurt and pain and absolute  _ sorrow,  _ all of it sprouting up from the weight he had been carrying at his front— a  _ reminder _ of just what exactly he was doing, of  _ whose life he was putting on the line. _

… so it was with complete and utter devastation, hurried and hushed whispered of apology, did Baekhyun don the clinic’s gown. It was with pure and heartfelt sorrow, begs and pleads for forgiveness, did Baekhyun let a tear slip. It was with genuine and whole  _ love,  _ mumbles of  _ “I love you”s  _ and murmurs of  _ “Papa loves you, Haneul-ah, Papa will see you soon”s  _ did Baekhyun let himself drift off and let the anaesthetic work itself into his blood.

He loved her.

_ He loved Haneul. _

He only wanted to provide for her, to give her the very best because that was what she deserved. 

That was what his little girl deserved.

All Baekhyun wanted to do was to provide for her the life that he couldn’t have— the life that he  _ struggled _ to have. All he wanted for her was security and stability, as well as endless love and devotion.

… but he knew that him wanting to give her all of that— him wanting to give her everything that he couldn’t have, meant that he had to give up everything that he had too. Bringing Haneul into this world meant him giving up his own— his own life that  _ three other people _ had already given up their own for.

… which was why it was with a final sob, muffled against his lips, chin trembling as he choked on his cry, did Baekhyun give the final ‘okay’ to the doctor.

…

…

…

_ “... Ma, Pa…” _

_ “... Take care of her for me…” _

_ “... Take care of your granddaughter for me.” _

 

* * *

 

_ “Oh God— that is absolutely disgusting—” _

_ “— Are you saying that Haneul’s taste in food is disgusting, Park Chanyeol?!” _

_ A swallow, before hasty waves of hands and frantic shaking of a head. _

_ “N—No! Not at all! It’s just— well, Nutella-covered cucumbers aren’t really my thing…” _

_ “Well, deal with it. It’s what Haneullie wants, so whatever she wants, she gets, and now she wants more!” _

_ A sigh, quiet and resigned. _

‘... The things I do for you, Haneul-ah…’

‘... The things I do for you…’

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t the only one suffering.

He wasn’t the only one in pain— wasn’t the only one experiencing the heartbreak of losing Haneul.

Baekhyun knew, of course he did, for he saw Chanyeol, for he  _ sees _ Chanyeol in school practically every day of the week.

Baekhyun remembers how absolutely shattered he had been, his own mind collapsing in on itself when Chanyeol told the truth about his initial intentions. 

He couldn’t believe how he hadn’t seen it, how he hadn’t put two and two together when it had all been so obvious all this while. He couldn’t believe how he had skipped over the few gaps in logic, in reasoning, instead choosing to focus instead on how Chanyeol had been so intent on having him carry their daughter— on having him  _ stay pregnant. _

He remembers the few instances where he had been skeptical. He remembers finding it quite unusual, quite out of the ordinary just how determined Chanyeol had been in regards to Baekhyun keeping Haneul. He remembers how Chanyeol had focused so much on their daughter, prioritising her and her health every time they made a trip to Dr. Kim’s office, how Chanyeol had watched over him so intensely to make sure that Baekhyun wasn’t overexerting himself, that he was abiding by Dr. Kim’s words.

… and he also remembers how Chanyeol had played it off, how Chanyeol had been so entirely  _ off _ when he had answered Baekbeom’s question about the Park family finding out.

_ “They’ll be absolutely fine”,  _ Baekhyun remembers him saying, the words sounding far too confident, almost flippant. He remembers how Chanyeol had seemingly brushed it off, almost as it the question had been that of the weather; unimportant, and it was only now that Baekhyun realised that Chanyeol—

—  _ that Chanyeol hadn’t even planned to tell his family. _

… and when Baekhyun finally realised what Chanyeol’s intentions had been then, what his initial goal had been for the pregnancy had been, he couldn’t bring himself to feel surprised.

After all, Chanyeol was a focused man.

One-track minded.

… and whatever he wants, he  _ gets,  _ with absolute no concern for anything, or anyone else.

It was ruthless, the realisation of that fact. The way in which it had all come crashing down, slapping Baekhyun in the face. The reality that he had been nothing but a pawn, a  _ toy  _ that was dispensable in Chanyeol’s little game, the game to get what he wanted. The reality that all he was, that all he had been to the other was just… someone he could  _ use—  _ someone he could lie to and manipulate and deceive just to get whatever he wanted.

… the reality that Chanyeol—

_ — that Chanyeol was lying. _

It was something that Baekhyun had to deal with too. He had to face the facts that the Chanyeol that he had come to know wasn’t entirely what he thought he was. He had to face the facts that the Chanyeol he had come to grow with, to travel on this journey with, to  _ have Haneul with,  _ hadn’t been entirely the man that he thought he was.

Chanyeol had initially used him, had used  _ them,  _ just to get what he wanted.

He had toyed with Baekhyun, he had toyed with  _ Haneul,  _ thinking only about how he could manipulate two innocent beings just to fulfill his own desires.

Not one, but  _ two. _

… one of which wasn’t even  _ born _ yet.

… Which was why Baekhyun had found it difficult, found it especially troublesome to believe Chanyeol back then. He had found himself not wanting to believe how affected Chanyeol was about him aborting Haneul, the doubts he had about the genuineness of his tears fueled only by his initial intentions, by the  _ truth. _

He found it hard to believe that Chanyeol would be so absolutely shattered, distraught and devastated over the loss of his daughter, someone who had initially been nothing more than a pawn to help him achieve his petty, shallow wants.

… and who could blame Baekhyun? Who could blame him for finding Chanyeol— the emotions that he had expressed, the utter distraught that he was showing all those days back— to be fake?

He’s proven how good of an actor he can be.

So what does Baekhyun have left, what other arguments does he have left to make him think that Chanyeol hadn’t been acting then either?

…

…

…

It was a necklace.

_ The _ necklace.

… that was all it took for Baekhyun to believe him.

 

* * *

 

_ “ _ _ You know… I always wondered why you picked that name for her.” _

_ A hum, distracted, eyes focused upwards. _

_ “You don’t like it?” _

_ Turning, and resting on sides, gaze focused on the other. _

_ “No, no it’s not that. I love it, I love ‘Haneul’,” a sigh, a purse of lips, “I was just curious, that’s all… Thought that there was a reason why you’d pick that name for her…” _

_ A meeting of eyes, before a small smile. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... Because she’s always going to be with us; rain or shine, she’s going to be  _ here.

_ “... and because she’ll always be beautiful, no matter the shade, no matter the mood, no matter the time or day or anything— she’ll be  _ beautiful,  _ Baek. _

_ “... Our own little sky.” _

 

* * *

 

It dropped.

It slipped right out of his bag, the thin silver chain clinking against the tiles of the student council floor. It was quite shocking, standing out amidst the shuffling of paper and the sliding of leather straps against polyester, immediately catching the attention of the only other person left in the room.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to be the last ones in the room; duties of being both president and vice president resulting in them having to wrap up the meetings and any loose ends, either individually or together. Considering how their relationship had been previously, it was even less surprising to the rest of the student council when both of them stayed back the longest.

Yet the tension between the two was palpable, thickening the air and making it difficult to breathe. Every single member of the council could see it; how the both of them tried their hardest to steer clear away form the other, eyes focused on anywhere else but the other person whenever they were talking. They could see it in how they had stayed far away from the other, Chanyeol asking to switch seats with the treasurer with not even an excuse, just a quiet  _ “please”.  _ They could see it in how they hadn’t even engaged in a typical disagreement, biting down on their tongues and turning their heads away when the other brought up a point— a point  _ everyone _ else in the room could tell didn’t sit with them.

It was so obvious, the broken state of their relationship then. They were trying to hide it, yes, but it wasn’t working very well. It was the first council meeting for the month and was hence the first time they were interacting this closely in a while, and what was even more obvious was how they, how the  _ both _ of them were trying their hardest to put on a professional front.

But their efforts were futile, a fault that was not their own.

… because just who would be able to hide their pain, hide their  _ grief _ within two weeks of losing their child…? Just who would be able to hide their sorrow, their despair at losing what would be their daughter, their  _ little girl,  _ just two weeks after she was gone…?

_ Just who would be able to hide their pain— the pain of a parent, of a  _ father,  _ losing his daughter— his little baby girl…? _

No one.

…  _ No one. _

Which was why no one had said anything, all members of the student council simply keeping their lips sealed and mind focused on the meeting’s agenda, and the meeting’s agenda only.

They ignored the way Chanyeol’s eyes had appeared to be swollen, reddened and irritated. They ignored the way Chanyeol’s skin had appeared to be a shade paler, hair more limp, and appearance more unkempt; his entire stature ruffled. They ignored the way Chanyeol’s focus clearly hadn’t been on the meeting, eyes misting over every few seconds as he dropped his head, hiding the few tears that slipped and the breathy inhales that he took in.

They ignored the way Baekhyun had been the same.

Everyone ignored the two, and everyone included both Chanyeol and Baekhyun.

… and Baekhyun had thought that he’d be able to keep it that way, that he’d be able to stay absolutely clear of the person— the very person he just  _ never knew  _ anymore.

… but how could he? How could he continue to steer clear of him, continuing to fuel the image that he had of Chanyeol in his head— about how he was a lying, fake, manipulative bastard who had never loved their daughter, who had never loved  _ Haneul,  _ how he had only used them for his own gain—

— when he was still just as obviously distraught, just as obviously  _ broken _ as Baekhyun…?

… when he was still refusing to talk to Baekhyun, refusing to meet his eyes— the very person that took her away, that gave her up, that  _ killed  _ her…?

…  _ when he was still carrying around the necklace…? _

 

* * *

 

_ A stilling of palms, and a breathless gasp. _

_ “She—” misting, teary; choked. _

_ “... She  _ moved,  _ Baek…” _

_ A gasped laugh, breathy and disbelieving. _

_ Overwhelmed, a tear slipping. _

_ “... Haneul  _ moved…”

 

* * *

 

“... She’s my daughter, Baekhyun.”

That was the only thing, the only line that Chanyeol had uttered. He didn’t even mumble a ‘thank you’ when Baekhyun had gingerly handed over the necklace—  _ their daughter’s  _ necklace to the other; his fingers just as wary of grazing against the other’s as Chanyeol’s were. He had only nodded, lips pursed and eyes elsewhere before he quickly clutched the thin silver chain, the firmness in which he did telling of just how much he hadn’t wanted Baekhyun to see it.

This only rubbed off on Baekhyun wrongly, Baekhyun feeling anger start to bubble inside him when he saw how much Chanyeol was trying to hide it— his hurt. He desperately wanted to get away, that much Baekhyun could tell. It was as desperate as the tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over once he held the necklace back in his palm.

It frustrated Baekhyun. It frustrated him to see the other’s tears, wailing over a child that he had never wanted in the first place, whose life he toyed with just for his own personal gain. It frustrated him to see the way he was shaking, choppy breaths and trembling fingers as he slipped the necklace back into his pocket. It frustrated him to see how he had caved in on himself, back hunching over and shoulders hunching up as he turned away; an attempt at making him appear smaller, appear  _ invisible. _

It frustrated Baekhyun because—

_ “When are you going to stop acting?!” _

— because Chanyeol had no reason to keep this facade anymore, the one of a doting and a loving father. He had no reason to keep up this front, especially not when the truth has now been revealed— known to the very people it  _ shouldn’t  _ have been known to in the first place. He had no reason to keep up this show, especially not when—

_ “She’s already dead, Chanyeol, so stop lying!” _

…

…

…

… not when Haneul was  _ dead. _

 

 

 

The reaction was instantaneous.

Baekhyun had never seen Chanyeol turn around that quickly, twisting on his feet before brazenly striding over to where the other was standing. Gone was the look of utter distraught; the reddened eyes drying down and trembling lips stilling as nothing but pure  _ anger _ consumed him whole.

His frame had tensed, arms tightening and palms curling as he strode over to Baekhyun. His features had morphed, eyebrows straightening and his wide eyes burning, lips relaxed and jaw tensed; the rage apparent. It was the muted kind of fury, the silent type of anger, one that Baekhyun had never seen before on the other, one that he didn’t know how to deal with.

Which was why he had been shocked, his own frustrations set aside by the sudden fear, one pulled out from him as soon as he realised that Chanyeol had his hands curled into the lapels of his blazer, fisting the fabric before outright  _ yanking _ him off of his feet.

The glare that Baekhyun was met with spoke nothing but blatant fury, Chanyeol’s eyes blazing as he towered over the other. Yet it didn’t take long before it broke, cracking around the edges the longer Chanyeol continued looking at the other, the longer Chanyeol continued looking at the only other person who knows— who  _ should _ know what exactly he was going through.

The words had tumbled out, stuttered and shaky, quiet but  _ strong,  _ in the same exact manner as the pain began welling in his eyes again. All the other emotions, the ones that were cast aside in light of the anger, in light of the  _ rage  _ that Baekhyun’s words had casted upon him, slowly began filtering in— filling up the cracks, making Chanyeol seem…  _ whole. _

_ “... Don’t you ever,” _ he had gruffed out, voice nothing more than a whisper, words nothing more than a  _ plea, “... and I mean  _ ever,  _ accuse me of lying about loving my daughter.” _

The words were said so desperately, the begging masked just faintly by the anger— the  _ front _ of anger. He was slowly beginning to crack again, the fury ebbing away the longer, the  _ louder _ his words echoed about the two of them.

It must have hit home, that was the only conclusion that Baekhyun could conjure. His words must have hurt, the implications and underlying meanings behind them stabbing him,  _ hurting _ him.

… and Baekhyun soon felt his own hurt bubble up too, his own emotional turmoil mirroring that of Chanyeol’s; the anger that he held, burning bright in him for the other slowly breaking away, chipping apart with each second he continued looking in the other’s eyes. It showed in his expression too, his own eyes welling up with tears and his own chin beginning to tremble, hands coming up to tug on Chanyeol’s wrist as he let his own hurt consume him once again.

… because…

… because  _ “She’s my  _ daughter,  _ Baek…” _

_ “... She was  _ mine.”

 

 

 

Sobs and cries soon became the only sounds that could be heard, bouncing off the walls and echoing about the room.

Relentless. Unforgiving.

_ Heartbreaking. _

It was painful to hear, the cries of two souls who had lost another. The cries of two souls who had hurt the other, pitting them against the other— pitting their own child, their own  _ flesh and blood _ against the other. The cries of two souls, two  _ parents-to-be,  _ who had just lost their child, their own daughter—

—… their own little  _ sky. _

Neither of them had known exactly what had happened, neither realising the events that had transpired over the past few seconds. It could have been when Chanyeol had cracked, how the front of anger had chipped away, revealing once again the pure ruin, the  _ shambles  _ that he was in. It could have been when Chanyeol’s eyebrows had started to furrow, his eyes started to redden, his tears started to well, and his lips start to tremble. It could have been when Chanyeol’s fists had started to unfurl, hands releasing the grip they had on Baekhyun’s blazer lapels, settling him back down on his feet, hold shaky.

… Or it could have been when Chanyeol’s first tear had slipped, when it breached past his swollen waterline and began tracking down his cheek.

_ “... She was  _ ours.”

…

…

…

… That was all it took.

Chanyeol had instantly crumbled down to his knees, legs buckling under his weight, under his emotions as they engulfed him whole again. He had immediately reached out for the other, arms wrapping about Baekhyun’s waist before pulling him in, the other burying his own fingers into his hair whilst he buried his face into the other’s abdomen

… into the Baekhyun’s  _ flat _ abdomen.

_ “I love you, Haneul-ah!”  _ Chanyeol had wailed, his entire frame shaking with the intensity of his cries, with the ferocity of his feelings, of his emotions. They had crashed down on him full force, cruel—  _ heartless _ in the slamming, the weight of it all finally catching up to him now that he had Baekhyun in his arms, now that he was pressing his forehead against his belly.

…  _ flat. _

… because— 

—… because Haneul was  _ gone. _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … Haneul— _

_ “— Daddy loves you, Haneul-ah—” _

_ —… Haneul was gone. _

He wouldn’t be able to hold her, he wouldn’t be able to kiss her, he wouldn’t be able to  _ love _ her—

_ “— Daddy loves you  _ so much!”

… because  _ she was gone. _

… and that…

… that was the only thing that he could focus on.

_ The fact that Haneul was gone. _

Gone was the anger that Chanyeol held for the other, gone was the contempt, the distaste he had for Baekhyun for his words, for his accusations. Gone was his contempt for the other man, his absolute  _ fury _ at how he had gone on ahead and did something that he shouldn’t have— that they hadn’t agreed on. Gone was the guilt, the one he had buried in his heart so deeply, the one brought about by what his initial intentions had been, by what he had initially planned on doing with the pregnancy— with  _ Baekhyun’s _ pregnancy.

Gone was Baekhyun’s image of the accuser, the perpetrator, the intended victim, the person who was the one and only reason he had lost his daughter.

For now he was nothing more, and nothing less, than Byun Baekhyun.

Byun Baekhyun,  _ a father to a lost daughter. _

Byun Baekhyun,  _ the father to their lost daughter. _

… and if there was anyone who could relate, if there was anyone who could understand, if there was anyone who could share the pain and the tears and the heartbreak and the sorrow and the  _ devastation— _

—… it was  _ Baekhyun. _

… for he had lost his daughter too.

… for he had lost  _ Haneul  _ too.

…

…

…

_ “... We love you, Haneul-ah…” _

_ “... Daddy and Papa love you…” _


	10. EPILOGUE

_ “You can still give it to her, you know…” _

_ Silence, before a tightening of fingers, a digging of thin silver into flesh. _

_ “... if you want to, that is. _

_ “... You don’t have to if you don’t want to—” _

_ “—I’ll give it.” _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ “... I’ll give it to her.” _

 

* * *

 

It was quiet.

The was nothing but the sounds of the rustling leaves, the jiggles of the few chimes scattered about, the tap of shoes against concrete.

The wind was gentle, a cool breeze warming those it kissed,  _ comforting,  _ and Baekhyun couldn’t help but revel in it. It was a beautiful companion, the wind. Never failing to greet him at the entrance every time he visited, flowing through the expansive openness, the few pillars holding up the high ceiling welcoming the air, giving  _ freedom. _

It never failed to accompany him, brushing through his hair and running up along the bare skin of his arms every time he took off his hat, took off his coat. Its touch was teasing, almost playful, Baekhyun needing to run his fingers through his hair to calm it back down before rubbing his arms, soothing the goosebumps that dotted them. It picked up sometimes, brushing past him harsher, almost in an attempt to rouse yet another ruffle, yet another shiver, and Baekhyun couldn’t help but smile.

It also never failed to  _ keep  _ him company, dying down to something more somber, akin to transitioning to a ballad right after an upbeat song as he made his way over to where he wanted to be— where he  _ had _ to be.

… where Haneul laid.

 

 

 

The crematorium didn’t get many visitors, something that Baekhyun had come to find out after his third visit in a week alone.

_ “Our busiest days are thanksgiving and sometimes, Christmas. That’s when we’re full. But other days… we don’t get many,  _ they _ don’t get many. Me recognising you by your third visit alone should speak for itself, son.” _

Those were the words that the receptionist had muttered, tone quiet, almost sympathetic. It dropped down to its lowest, to its  _ weakest _ right in the middle, when he mentioned how not many people would come by on another other day of the calendar.

It pained him, honestly. Baekhyun remembers feeling his heart twinge a little in his chest, growing cold at how so many souls hadn’t received visitations, hadn’t seen the faces of their loved ones, hadn’t heard the voices of their sons and daughters, their granddaughters and grandsons. their sisters and brothers, and—

… and their mothers and fathers.

He couldn’t fathom that thought, couldn’t stomach how  _ Haneul _ wouldn’t be able to see them, wouldn’t be able to hear their voices anymore once she had passed on. It pained him to think of taking away that— that  _ right _ of hers; being able to see and hear her parents.

… even when they hadn’t gotten their chance to.

… and it was that very reason, that single fact that had made Baekhyun all the more determined to visit Haneul, to make the time for his daughter and to see her. It made him all the more resolute to  _ keep _ visiting, marking the days on his calendar and working around his scheduled visitations, rather than working the visitations around his schedule.

… He was the reason why she couldn’t live, why she hadn’t lived, after all. He was the one who had taken that opportunity, that  _ right _ away from her.

…  _ He was the reason why she was in the crematorium in the first place. _

Some might call him guilty, point their fingers and yap on about how _ “he’s only visiting so frequently because he was the one who killed her!”,  _ and Baekhyun—

— Baekhyun would agree. Baekhyun can agree.

It was true after all.

It was partly thanks to guilt that kept Baekhyun determined to visit, to keep visiting his daughter. It was the guilt, the one that was roused from the moment he had given his ‘okay’ to the doctor, the one that grew when he saw how Chanyeol had crumpled right in the hallway of their apartment complex, the one that resided in him ever since he saw how  _ unrelenting _ Chanyeol’s grip on the silver necklace had been.

The one roused from and was residing in him ever since that day. 

… the same day, the same, lone  _ date _ printed on Haneul’s niche.

It was true that it was guilt that contributed to his mass visits, guilt from what he did to her, and what he did to her other father. It was guilt that kept him staying for hours, spending a good six or so hours standing in front of her niche, eyes going over the letters of her name and the numbers of the single date engraved into the marble countless times. 

It was guilt that kept him talking, recounting what had happened during the day, what he ate and what he did, the emotions that he felt and the people that he encountered. It was guilt that had him splurging, setting aside any meagre sum of money that he had for a new teddy bear, a new book, or a new toy.

It was guilt that kept him reading to her, exaggerating the voices of the characters in the multitude of children’s books he would bring with him, features contorting as they mimicked his tone, aiding his gestures. It was guilt that kept him playing with the toys, ranging from stroking the soft fur of the dolls to yelping when the Jenga tower finally came tumbling down.

It was guilt that kept him coming back— that kept him visiting, yes.

… but it was also  _ love. _

It was the love that he had for her, the love that had grown, that was only  _ growing _ with each passing day that had him coming back. 

It was the love that he had for her that kept him focused, eyes soft and touches fond as he trailed his fingers over her name, over  _ his daughter’s _ name, for hours and hours on end. Admiring, affectionate,  _ loving. _

It was the love that he had for her that kept him thinking of new things to say, of different things to talk about. It was the love that made him recount each and every detail of what  _ Uncle Dae Dae _ had done, telling his daughter in explicit detail all the silly things that her godfather had done. It was the love that had him whispering to him, palms cupped over his mouth as he spilled how  _ “I think Uncle Beom found someone, Haneul-ah, she’s really pretty!”.  _ It was the love that made him search through all his social media accounts, digging through his feed and his following’s followings just so he could find a good enough picture of who might be her  _ aunt. _

It was the love that he had for her that made him excited to see the releases of children’s books, keeping up to date with the famed authors. It was the love that had him rushing down to the bookstores and down to book-signing events, smiling wide as he presented his own book with a mumble of  _ “To Haneullie, please. To Park Haneul”. _

It was the love that he had for her that made him skip his meals sometimes, prioritising the game he saw on the shelves of the local ‘Toys ‘R Us’ that he knows his little girl would love. It was the love that had him excited, grinning wide whenever he wins and whining loudly whenever he would lose at a board game.

_ It was love. _

…

…

…

… Baekhyun  _ loves  _ Haneul.

He does.

… and he knows that Chanyeol does too.

… which was why he could only smile, the stretch of lips so minute yet at the same time so telling, absolutely  _ screaming  _ of the love that he had for his daughter, for  _ their _ daughter, as he rested his palm over Chanyeol’s own hand.

… the hand that was holding onto the necklace.

… and Baekhyun’s smile only grew, stretching just a little wider when Chanyeol finally released it, finally let go of the necklace.

“... See, I told you, didn’t I?” Baekhyun whispered, tone light as he focused his gaze on Haneul’s niche, watching in admiration how it looked even more gorgeous, even more  _ beautiful  _ now, with the added item. “... it would look cute on her.”

Silence was the only thing that he was responded with, and Baekhyun couldn’t help but break his away from their daughter’s niche, instead focusing it on where the other stood. He had been worried, thought that he had crossed a line, that it had been too soon. However, when he caught sight of the way Chanyeol was looking; eyes soft,  _ awed,  _ with his head tilted a little to the side as he continued on gazing at where their daughter laid, at where  _ Haneul _ laid—

“... It isn’t cute, Baekhyun-ah…

“... It’s  _ beautiful.” _

— he realises that he was wrong.

… that Chanyeol simply loved her, loved their daughter.

… as he did too.

… and it was then did Baekhyun realise, that no matter what happens, that even though she couldn’t be with them, that she wasn’t given her chance at life, that—

_ “You will always be our daughter, Haneul-ah. _

_ “... Our little sky.” _

—  _ that she was always,  _ always,  _ going to be with them. _

_ “We love you, Haneul.” _

_ “... Daddy and Papa  _ love you."


End file.
